Wake
by Gefunden
Summary: Post-DH, EWE: Hermione is solitary by choice, but once she encounters a changed Draco Malfoy - alone and unloved - she finds that she may not want to be so isolated after all...
1. Changes

_Authors Note: This is my first story on here-I'm working on two other D/H romances, both of which I intend to be novel length along with _Wake_. This is totally unbetaed/unedited, unless you count myself and I know I'm not perfect...so if you spot any mistakes, please let me know! The song to go along with this chapter is "Changes" by Stars._

_24 August 2001_

It was a typical Friday night at the Burrow. Hermione, Harry, and most of the Weasley family were gathered in the sitting room, enjoying pre-dinner conversation and catching up with one another. Tonight the usual crowd was there: Mrs. Weasley, George, Ron, Ginny, and, of course, Harry and Hermione. Bill, Charlie, and Percy only came for special occasions—something that Molly strongly objected to each time she saw her three eldest children.

Granted, the majority of them did not need to catch up as they saw each other nearly every day, but ever since the War everyone was more than willing to gather together once a week. Hermione especially enjoyed these gatherings; she had always loved the family dynamics of the Weasleys. It got rather lonely being an only child.

The fire flared green as Arthur Weasley tumbled through, brushing ashes off of himself as he greeted everyone cheerfully.

"Is he coming, Arthur?" Molly enquired her husband as she helped him out of his traveling cloak.

"Is who coming?" George asked curiously.

"He said he would, Molly," Arthur replied genially. "Took quite a bit of persuasion on my end, mind you," he added, shaking his head. "Poor boy kept saying he didn't want to be any trouble."

"Oh, the dear," Molly murmured.

"Who are you talking about?" Ron queried, echoing George's previous inquiry.

Molly glanced at her husband with an unreadable expression on her face before she turned to put away Arthur's traveling cloak. "Draco Malfoy," Arthur answered his son calmly. He continued talking over the barrage of outraged exclamations, his placid voice carrying over the noise.

"He works under me, as you all know, and I don't care what silly school grudges you have against him, the boy has changed. He's very alone right now and Molly told me—err, _I_ thought it'd be a good idea to have him stop by for supper just to have some company. Merlin knows he doesn't get any of that in that empty Manor of his," Arthur finished decisively, with a stern look at his children.

Hermione glanced at the rest of the younger crowd. The Weasleys had the grace to look abashed, but Harry was wearing a stubborn expression that she was familiar with.

"Arthur, you know just as well as we do that this is much more than just a 'silly school grudge'," Harry said tightly. "He took the _Dark Mark_, and he definitely didn't try to help any of us when we could have used it," he finished darkly, no doubt thinking of that fateful night at Malfoy Manor. At Arthur's pointed look, Harry sighed and shoved his hand through his already messy hair. "Look, I'm not saying we're going to attack him when he walks in…he just better watch his mouth, that's all."

Hermione sighed inwardly. It could have been worse, after all. Harry was much less hot-tempered than he had been pre-War, but he was still prone to outbursts, especially when it came to the subject of the War—or in this case, former Death Eaters. Hermione herself didn't mind so much; she knew that Arthur and Molly wouldn't have invited Malfoy into their home without good reason. The Malfoy she remembered—the cocky, swaggering, spoiled brat she'd encountered so many times during her school days—still irked her, of course, but if Arthur said he'd changed…well, she'd just have to believe him.

Hermione glanced across the room at Ron and smiled. He was listening to Harry's sullen whispers with a slightly pained look on his face. He smiled sheepishly at her as he caught her eye and shrugged as if to say, 'what can you do?', turning his attentions back to Harry. Hermione knew Ron was just as displeased as Harry was about the situation but he, like all of them, had changed as a result of the War. Hermione felt a glow of pride as she watched Ron diplomatically pacify Harry.

"Oh, get a room, will you?" Ginny said cheekily. Hermione flushed red and turned to the girl next to her, who wore a mischievous expression that so echoed the ones that the twins wore that Hermione's heart broke a little seeing it. It never got easier seeing reminders of Fred's death, but after three years of dealing with the pain, everyone was an expert on masking their darker emotions.

Hermione shoved Ginny's arm and muttered, "Shut it. You should see yourself drool over Harry in his Auror robes!"

Ginny smirked. "But he fills them out so well…" She licked her lips suggestively. Hermione held in her laughter as she watched George's face twist into a grimace.

"I think I'm going to vomit and we haven't even eaten yet," George proclaimed. "Speaking of, Mum, when are we starting? Do we have to wait until the Ferret bounces in, or—," George was cut off by a swift cuff to his head, courtesy of Molly. "Ow, Mum, watch the hole! It's delicate!"

Molly ignored the joke and reprimanded George over the laughter of the others. "George Weasley, so help me if you use that horrid _nickname_ during this dinner I will make sure your other ear matches this side!" She finished with another smack to the side of George's head that was missing an ear.

"Alright, alright," George muttered sullenly, rubbing his head. "Don't get your knickers in a twist over it."

Molly bustled off to the kitchen, presumably to check on the many dishes she had prepared for the night. Arthur followed her, and the atmosphere in the small room slowly became less tense as the occupants' topics of conversation drifted to other things. Ginny was regaling them all with a tale from one of her practices with the Harpies when Hermione heard the crack of Apparition split through the air. Ginny abruptly broke off in the middle of her story and, after a beat of silence, dashed to the back door, closely followed by Harry, Ron, and George. Hermione rolled her eyes and followed at a much slower pace. She was standing in the small kitchen when she heard muffled whispers from the scullery.

"…doesn't have much of a fortune anymore, and he's got no family…" That was Arthur speaking. Hermione heard a sympathetic moue from Molly. "Now, Molly dear, don't bring it up, you don't want to upset the boy, especially in front of…"

"Of course I won't bring it up, Arthur!" Hermione heard Molly huff and then sigh. "The poor lamb…"

"Oh, bollocks!" Ginny hissed, and scrambled away from the back door. "I think he saw us!" There was a mad dash as everyone fumbled to seat themselves at the rickety table. A soft knock on the door followed. Hermione bit her lip as she watched the Weasley children arrange themselves into overly nonchalant positions. Harry, on the other hand, looked stiff and uncomfortable. Hermione was reminded of the Yule Ball in their fourth year, and had to stifle another laugh.

Molly threw open the door. "Draco, dear, do come in!" She smiled kindly at the boy standing in the doorway. Hermione blinked, and then blinked again. Either that person wasn't Draco Malfoy, or he really _had_ changed. He seemed to have grown to his full height—not as short as Harry, but not as tall as Ron—and that growth was evident in the way his skin was stretching over the bones in his face. His hair was no longer sleek and shiny, but hung in rather lank strands around his face. But the most different trait, the one that Hermione noticed the most, was his comportment. His shoulders were slumped and rounded in towards his body, as though to shield himself, and his head was lowered slightly. The whole effect seemed to have taken the wind out of everyone's sails; the Weasley children were openly gaping at him, while Harry had slumped a bit and seemed rather taken aback.

"Thank you for having me, Mrs. Weasley," Draco said quietly.

"Oh, nonsense, dear! The more the merrier," Molly replied cheerfully, patting Draco on the shoulder and pointedly ignoring his flinch.

"Sit, Draco, sit!" Arthur gesticulated towards the table. The only open seat was next to Hermione, something she suspected had been arranged by the rest of the table's occupants who all, with the exception of Arthur and Molly, looked rather relieved that they didn't have to sit next to the "Ferret".

Draco sat without complaint, his posture unconsciously becoming ramrod-straight. He nodded at the rest of the table, and to everyone's surprise, greeted them politely. This seemed to snap Harry out of his momentary trance of sangfroid. "Malfoy," Harry all but growled. Ron didn't even bother to greet Draco, choosing instead to peer at Draco through narrowed eyes as though he were about to jump up and hex them all.

Hermione rolled her eyes and suppressed a sigh. Honestly, when were they going to grow up? "Good evening, Draco," she greeted, gracing him with a small smile. "How have you been?"

No sooner had the question left her mouth that she remembered in horror exactly what had been the catalyst in Draco's change of character, and just how asinine her query had been.

It had happened during the aftermath of the War; Wizarding Britain was still reeling six months after the War was over. The news had been shocking, yes, but it had slipped Hermione's mind—she had still been finding her footing after a year living in fear of her life, as well as her friends'. The Weasleys had still been mourning Fred, and Hermione was still uncomfortable around her parents, who still didn't completely trust her after she had revealed taking away their memories.

Lucius Malfoy had been tried by the Wizengamot and found guilty on multiple charges. His determined sentence was life in Azkaban. Days later, he was found in his cell, hanging from a makeshift rope made from his bed sheets. The irony of it was not lost on Hermione—a Pureblood supremacist using Muggle means of gaining his own death, which was completely overlooked as a hazard to the prisoners by the Wizards employed at Azkaban.

As soon as Narcissa found out about her husband, she went virtually insane from grief, eventually wasting away to a mere shell of the imposing woman she had once been. She had passed away recently, and Draco was the sole Malfoy remaining. He had been taking care of his mother as well as he could, but the cost had been a heavy toll on the remaining Malfoy fortune. All Draco had left was the Manor and his meagre earnings from the Ministry.

Draco Malfoy was utterly, absolutely, alone.

The horrified silence that followed Hermione's question lasted for what felt like hours, but eventually Draco cleared his throat and answered quietly, "I've been well, thank you." Conversation after that was stilted and awkward, and Hermione felt like a fool. If there was one thing Hermione absolutely hated, it was feeling stupid.

"So, Malf—er, _Draco_," Ginny piped up some time later. "What is it that you…do, exactly?"

Malfoy looked up from his plate, wiping his mouth before he answered Ginny. "As I'm sure you know, I work with Arthur in the Muggle Liaison Office," he stated placidly. "I'm a Junior Officer, so I do small tasks, such as report on Muggle-Wizard incidents and network with our partners in the Muggle world."

When he didn't say anything more on the subject, George cleared his throat and inquired, "So…basically, you liaise with…Muggles, is that right? It's just you weren't very clear, and—_oof!_" Ginny had jabbed him sharply in the ribs with her elbow. She turned and smiled at Malfoy. "Well, I for one find it very interesting. I don't think I'd be good at a job like that; I don't know the first thing about Muggles, other than what Hermione has told me."

"Wait a minute," Hermione interjected interestedly. "If you work in Muggle Relations, then am I correct in assuming you got an O in Muggle Studies?"

Malfoy glanced down at his plate, his cheeks pinking slightly. He nodded.

"But—you didn't go back to Hogwarts after the War!" Harry burst out. "And, I'm sorry, but I don't think you'd have been allowed to take Muggle Studies if your parents had any say it!"

"_Harry!"_ Molly chided angrily.

"Well, it's true," Harry said mulishly.

"You're right," Malfoy spoke up quietly. "I didn't go back to Hogwarts, and I never took Muggle Studies before—," he broke off quickly. "I got tutored, afterwards, and Muggle Studies was a required course in my syllabus. And…" He trailed off.

"And what? Let me guess, the Wizengamot forced you to work in the Muggle Liaison Office to atone for your sins, right?" Harry scoffed.

"No!" Malfoy blurted. "No, I…I found it interesting, alright?" He smiled bitterly, shaking his head. "After all of the years of force-fed prejudice I thought Muggles would be stupid and inferior. But they're not. They've come up with amazing things, some even more advanced than our society…" He looked up at the rest of the table. Something in his face hardened and for a moment he looked like the old Malfoy. "Forget it," he muttered. "You lot won't believe me anyway."

He stood up from the table, gently setting his napkin on his chair. "Please excuse me, Mrs. Weasley. It was a lovely dinner. Arthur, I'll see you at work," Malfoy muttered, and with that, walked out the door. There was a moment of shocked silence, and then:

"_You…you…_," Molly sputtered, her face turning an alarming shade of red. She stood and threw her napkin down. "_Harry James Potter_. I have never been more _disappointed_ in you!"

"But—," Harry started.

"No buts!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed, staunchly ignoring George's snigger. "You may not be mine by blood, but you're as good as, and I will not stand for this kind of behaviour in my own home." She took a deep breath, and everyone tensed in anticipation of a Howler-worthy tirade. But instead, Mrs. Weasley exhaled, and continued in a quieter voice. "You've known your whole life what it's like to not have parents. I would have expected you, of all people, Harry, to have more compassion and empathy." Her eyes shone bright with tears, and she sniffed before making her way out of the room. A moment later, they heard a door close quietly.

After a moment of shocked silence, Harry stood to go after her. "I wouldn't go up there if I were you," George advised. "Mum's in a right state and the only way to get back on her good side is to stay away. Let her cool off a bit," he finished uncertainly, looking taken aback by his mother's out of character behaviour.

"He's right, son," Arthur said gently. "Right now you're better off just leaving her alone. Try coming 'round later next week."

"Thanks, Arthur," Harry sighed and sank back into his seat. "I don't think I can face her right now, anyway."

"Well, it's no skin off my back if I help you avoid Molly's wrath," Arthur replied dryly. He stood and waved his wand; the dishes flew off to the kitchen sink and began to wash themselves. He walked towards the hallway that led to the stairs, and paused. "And Harry?"

"Yes?"

"I may have given you advice on how to make good with my wife, but I must say I agree with her. I expected better from you." Arthur bid goodnight to the others and left the room.

The silence that gathered around the remaining members at the table was heavy and uncomfortable. Hermione understood completely how Molly felt, but at the same time she could see where Harry was coming from—and how horrible he must be feeling after what Mrs. Weasley said to him sank in. She glanced to the side. Harry's face was pale, and as he raised a hand to take off his glasses, she noted that it was shaking slightly. He buried his face in his hands, and Ginny stroked his back lightly, whispering something to him. Ron caught Hermione's eyes and jerked his head towards the door. Hermione stood and they made their way to the garden.

Ron exhaled with a _woosh_ of air, and crossed his arms behind his head, stretching his long body. "That was brutal," he commented. "Poor Harry." He placed his arm around Hermione's shoulders lightly as they walked through the yard.

Hermione nodded, leaning her head against Ron. "Yes, poor Harry," she agreed. "But also, poor Malfoy. I can't believe I brought it up," Hermione groaned.

"Hermione, I know you hate to feel stupid, but don't kick yourself over it, yeah?" Ron said. "It's not your fault that you don't keep constant tabs on Malfoy's personal life."

"Yes, but still," Hermione replied quietly. She sighed and glanced over at the house. Harry and Ginny were no longer at the table and Hermione assumed they'd gone home to their flat in Bath. "Looks like they've gone," she relayed to Ron.

Ron took his arm from her shoulders and stretched again, yawning hugely. "Well, I'll be off, I suppose," he said to her. An awkward silence followed. "When are we going to tell them?" Ron asked finally, sounding uncomfortable.

"Not just yet," Hermione said gently. "Especially after…that—," she waved vaguely at the house, "—happened. I don't want to give Harry another reason to be upset. It can wait another week or so, don't you think?"

"I suppose," Ron sighed. "It's gotten harder to not tell him, though. He's been hinting at me proposing soon, and we don't want him getting too used to _that_ idea."

Hermione grimaced. She and Ron had broken up, amicably, just over a month ago. They'd not told any of the Weasleys nor Harry because, for one, they'd each been quite busy. Hermione also didn't want to upset her role in the Weasleys' lives. She was terrified that when they learned of the break up, they would effectively disown her, Molly especially. Hermione had not forgotten Molly's cold behaviour towards her during the Triwizard Tournament during their fourth year.

"No one is going to hate you," Ron assured her. "And if they do, they can hate me right along with you, seeing as this whole thing was mutual."

"Thanks, Ron," Hermione said gratefully, smiling up at him. The warm feelings she had towards him had not faded, but they had changed from a wild, all-consuming love, to very close to what she felt for Harry, and what she assumed she'd feel for a brother if she'd had one.

"Well, I'm off. Need to catch up on sleep," Ron smiled self-deprecatingly. "I'll see you at lunch on Monday." Ron gave her quick a hug before he disapparated with a pop.

Hermione shot one last glance at the Burrow before neatly disapparating. She appeared in the living room of her house, located at Land's End in Cornwall. It was unplottable, of course, and completely hidden to Muggles. Her small house overlooked the sea, and Hermione liked to think of it as the edge of the Earth, as though with a strong gust of wind her cottage could topple off the cliffs and into the ocean.

She crossed to the window facing West towards the ocean and opened it, inhaling the salty air deeply. The sea never failed to calm her, its colours and patterns ever changing. Some days it was as jewel bright as tropical waters, others it was grey and stormy. Hermione loved it. She was as drawn to it as she was to a library or bookstore. The sea hadn't always held this magnetic pull for Hermione but after the War was over, she'd gone to Australia to find her parents and fell in love. They were living in the small coastal town of Point Lookout on North Stradbroke Island in Queensland, a complete shock to Hermione: her parents had lived their whole lives (as Daniel and Lara Granger, at least) in the bustling metropolis of London, city-folk through and through. Point Lookout was a far cry from London, with its sweeping views of the ocean and small population.

Hermione stayed with her parents until late August, when she had to go back to prepare for her last year at Hogwarts. She'd discovered that the location agreed with her, as well as her parents—they'd declined returning to England permanently. They loved their new location and life in Australia. After a bit of tricky magic (which Kingsley and a few professional Obliviators helped with), Daniel and Lara were able to resume the lives they'd led as Wendell and Monica Wilkins, with the addition of their memories of their daughter and their original names.

Hermione visited them from time to time, although the International Portkeys were a bit pricey. Her parents had since retired with a sizeable amount of money saved up from their years as dentists and helped her out once in a while, which Hermione gladly took advantage of. Her parents were getting on in their years, at least for Muggles, and Hermione wanted to spend as much time with them as she could. They'd had her late in life, and it saddened Hermione to know that she wouldn't even be middle-aged when her parents reached the ends of their significantly shorter lives.

Hermione sighed heavily and checked the time. It was about six in the morning in Point Lookout and her parents were surely up and about, eating breakfast and getting ready for their daily morning walk. She picked up the phone and dialled the number for her parents' house. "Hi, Mum," Hermione greeted as her mother picked up the phone. They chatted for a half hour before Hermione hung up to get ready for bed. It was good to speak with her mum, to hear her voice, but they didn't really have much to talk about. Hermione's parents were still wary of magic in general after they'd been brought out of Hermione's deliberate memory loss. They were fine with her taking a Portkey to an undisclosed location (in this case, the Australian Ministry of Magic located in Canberra), but anything else—Floo calls, Apparition into the house, even simple spells using a wand—was out of question.

That being said, Hermione wasn't able to speak about her job in detail, nor many other aspects of her life. Hermione worked in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, in the Being Division. She worked primarily with House Elves, Goblins, and Werewolves, but occasionally helped out the other parts of the department. She loved her job: it was what she wanted to do for the rest of her life, helping others, and it absolutely killed her to not be able to go into detail about it to her parents. She knew they'd approve and, if they'd been comfortable with magic, even come to love it as much as she did. But knowing they would approve was much different than having their actual approval and praise.

Sometimes Hermione resented them for it. She would fume and rage and throw things, then calmly clean them up with her wand as though nothing had happened. She would go out to the cliffs and scream until she was hoarse—not just at her parents, but at Voldemort, at Death Eaters, at racists, anyone who was discriminatory against a group of people who didn't deserve it. She felt no peace from these outbursts, but afterwards would be drained enough to not care so much until the emotions built up inside of her and would have to be expelled once more.

She knew it was unhealthy. She'd only told Ron, and he'd stared at her seriously for a moment before delicately suggesting that she talk to someone. He'd embraced her, let her cry on his shoulder; ragged, gasping, ugly sobs that felt like they were tearing their way out of her. But he had never judged her, and for that she was grateful.

Hermione slowly began her nightly routine. She took a long shower, washing her face and her hair and her body until she could feel the lassitude sinking into her bones, then washed her teeth at the sink. A hasty drying spell was cast on her hair, and she padded into her bedroom, pulling on a large, tatty shirt that had once belonged to Ron; it was so faded that it was no longer red but a soft coral colour.

She yawned hugely and collapsed into her bed. Her last thought before she fell asleep hours later was of Draco Malfoy, and if he was just as broken as she felt inside.


	2. Still Young

_The song for this chapter is "Still Young" by Evenings. Enjoy!_

Hermione spent the rest of her weekend in a leisurely daze. She worked on and off on a few case files she'd taken home with her, but other than that she mainly lounged around her house. She was a different Hermione from her school days, much less manic though she was ever the perfectionist. After all, what was the point of being good at something if you weren't the best?

Monday rolled around and Hermione walked into work with a slight smile on her face. She was always glad to get back to work; though she cherished the free time her weekends granted her, she began to get restless after a few days without anything to work on. She strolled into the first available lift, smiling at a few acquaintances and pressed the button for the fourth level. Her fame had died down somewhat since the War, but she was still greeted by people she'd never spoken with. It was something she didn't think she'd ever be used to, and she finally understood how Harry felt.

Hermione walked into the offices of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures and greeted her favourite colleague, an old school mate of hers: Susan Bones. "Hello, Sue, how was your weekend?" Susan was a pretty witch who had been in Hermione's year at Hogwarts. She'd been in Hufflepuff and it showed; she was one of the genuinely nicest people Hermione had ever met. Underneath her nice exterior was a sharp mind and a fervour for justice—Susan was a half-blood, and most of her family had been killed by Death Eaters. She and Hermione had bonded quickly and often worked on cases together.

"It was lovely, thanks," Susan smiled. "Padma and I stayed in all weekend, it was so nice to relax for once. How was yours?"

"It was…interesting, to say the least," Hermione replied slowly. At Susan's concerned look, she shook her head quickly and muttered, "We'll have to talk about it later. See you at lunch, yeah?"

"Alright," Susan replied suspiciously. "I expect full details, though!" She called after Hermione as she made her way into her tiny office.

That she got any sort of office at all was a miracle in itself. At the Ministry, if you weren't in the top tier of the office hierarchy, you were lucky to even get a desk of your own. Hermione was well on her way to becoming head of the department—she had quite a long way to go, of course—so she had been granted the luxury of the one tiny, windowless office in the Being Division of the department.

Her office was deceptively neat. Hermione liked to have a clean desk: a clear desk equalled a clear mind. She also had a complex organization system enabled in the desk and file cabinets. However organized she was, though, the file cabinet folders were always stuffed to bursting with papers, memos, articles, and various other paper paraphernalia. Hermione may have been organized but she was a bit of a pack rat as well—she was terrified of ever losing something pertinent to her cases.

Hermione pulled out the files pertinent to her case, one she'd been working on ever since her fourth year at school: House Elf enslavement. She was so close to her goal, which was to make it mandatory for each House Elf in a Wizarding family's service to be paid at least one Galleon per month. Hermione knew she was fighting a tough battle. On one hand, most wizards and witches were barely cognizant of House Elf rights and on the other, House Elves themselves didn't seem to be very adamant that they get treated with respect either.

She worked on the case steadily until a few hours later, at approximately 11:45, a small figurine of a bird on her desk chirped loudly. It was her alarm, set to go off fifteen minutes before her lunch break. Hermione had often worked straight through lunch and quickly learned that though it reflected positively upon her work, it definitely did not reflect positively on her body. She sighed and set down her quill, wincing as she stretched out the fingers in her cramped hand. At this rate she'd be done with her proposal and have it handed in to Kingsley by the end of the week.

Hermione made her way to the Ministry cafeteria to meet Ron and Harry. They'd all had lunch together as often as they could since they'd started working at the Ministry back in 1998 and, in Hermione's case, 1999. Ron and Harry were sitting at their usual table—it was over by the window (magically enhanced to show a view of the River Thames) on the west end of the room. Ron caught her eye and smiled. Harry nodded at her, looking a bit morose.

Hermione greeted them, giving Ron a kiss on the cheek to keep up appearances around Harry. This was really getting tiresome; they'd have to tell him soon. "How's your day going so far?" she asked the both of them as she opened her canteen.

Ron shrugged as Harry grimaced. "We got tipped off on where some ex-Death Eaters are hiding," Ron supplied. "It's not much but it's a start."

"Which ones?" Hermione asked. Harry glowered darkly and ground out, "Crabbe and MacNair."

Hermione nodded, feeling a savage sort of satisfaction at the idea of the Death Eaters being caught and thrown into Azkaban. Especially MacNair: he'd been the man set to execute Buckbeak back during their third year at Hogwarts. Crabbe she had no particular hatred for. If he were as thick as his idiotic son, he'd be caught in no time.

Hermione swiftly changed the subject by talking extensively about the progress she was making on her proposal. Ron and Harry managed to not let their eyes glaze over completely, and Hermione was glad she still had the ability to put them in a soporific state. It was better than having a sullen Harry stabbing at his steak and kidney pie as though it were a Death Eater's face.

She chattered on through their lunch until they were all finished eating. Sending Ron a message with her eyes, she managed to make it seem like she and Ron were hanging around to say a "special goodbye", which made Harry run out as soon as he caught on to what they were implying. As soon as he was out of sight, Hermione unwound her arms from Ron's neck and made a face.

"I hate having to act like some sappy couple whenever we're in public," she muttered to him.

"Believe me, I feel the same," Ron replied glumly. "It's bringing back too many memories of sixth year."

Hermione's face twisted into a half-smile, half-grimace. She felt guilty laughing at Lavender Brown now, as the poor girl had died during the battle at Hogwarts. She knew Ron felt the same, but they had to move on at some point, and Ron and Lavender _had_ been rather ridiculous back then.

"Anyway, let's get going. I've got to get back to my proposal," Hermione said. Ron rolled his eyes playfully and replied, "As if I didn't know that already; you talked about it enough for the past hour." They walked to the lift and took it to their respective floors, narrowly missing the rush of the second lunch break.

Hermione didn't see Susan when she got back to her office; she must have already gone down to the cafeteria. Susan and many other workers at the Ministry had lunch at one o'clock instead of noon like Hermione. It helped to not crowd the cafeteria, and the workers who had lunch later also worked one hour later. As Hermione was in the upper echelons of the Ministry, she was granted an earlier lunch and an earlier work day. Not that she even took advantage of it; Susan usually had to stop by Hermione's office in order to get her to leave work by 5 or even 6, so Hermione wasn't at all surprised to hear a soft knock on her office door that evening at 5:03.

A second later, the door opened, framing Susan. "Hermione, it's after five, come on." Hermione didn't look up as she replied. "Barely, it's only 5:03. Let me finish this paragraph and I'll stop then, I promise," Hermione said absently. She dimly heard Susan sigh, and a few minutes later finished her paragraph with a flourish. "Done!"

Susan smiled fondly at Hermione. It had become routine for her to stop by Hermione's office to check on her, make sure she wasn't working herself into the ground. Even by Hufflepuff standards Hermione was hard-working. "You want to go to the Leaky Cauldron?" Susan asked. "I could use a pint and then you can tell me all about your weekend, like you promised."

"That'd be lovely. A Firewhiskey sounds amazing right now, actually," Hermione admitted. She reached up and pulled her wand out of her hair, letting the riotous curls fall into a wild mess around her face.

The two women Flooed to the Leaky Cauldron and managed to snag a small table in the corner of the pub, away from the general hustle and bustle that was the Leaky Cauldron after a long workday. Hermione wordlessly cast _muffliato_ so no one would eavesdrop and, after they got their drinks from a harried Hannah Abbott, relayed her weekend to Susan.

"You'll never guess who was at the Weasleys' on Friday," Hermione said. Susan smiled and said, "Well, when you put it like that, why not just tell me straight off? Just tell me; you know I'll never get it anyway." Hermione waited for Susan to finish her sip of ale and said calmly, "Draco Malfoy."

"You're taking the mickey," Susan said immediately.

"No, I'm not," Hermione said, holding back a smile. "Now, just listen, it gets even more odd."

Susan's eyes got progressively wider as Hermione told her the rest. By the time she was finished, Susan looked positively agog. "There's no way that was Draco Malfoy," Susan decided. Hermione just shook her head. "Arthur invited him for a reason. I think he and Molly feel a bit…sorry for him, actually."

Susan's face set stonily. There was no love lost between her, whose family had been murdered by Voldemort's followers, and Draco Malfoy, a known former Death Eater. Hermione looked at her sympathetically and placed her hand over the other girl's. Susan sighed and her face softened. "I know I shouldn't hate him," she murmured. "I admire Molly and Arthur; they're far more compassionate than I could ever be."

"No," Hermione replied. "You have every right to feel the way you feel. Don't berate yourself for it." She smiled and squeezed Susan's hand. "And I'm sure if you saw Malfoy again, you'd be surprised at how different he is. You might surprise yourself."

Susan smiled tearily at Hermione before wiping at her eyes with a no-nonsense air. "Enough of that," she declared briskly. She drank the last of her ale and gestured at the bar. "Want another? I've got an hour or so 'til Padma's home, anyway."

Hermione glanced at the ancient clock mounted on the wall above the bar. "Bollocks!" she exclaimed. "I've got to run, I need to get more food for Crooks before the Menagerie closes!"

She stood hastily and ended the _muffliato_ with a sharp slash of her wand. "I'll see you tomorrow, Sue; thanks for the drink!" With a flurry she pushed her way through the throngs of people and burst out the back door to the entrance of Diagon Alley.

A fine mist was falling as Hermione hurried up the cobbled street towards the Magical Menagerie. It was closing in a few minutes and she had completely run out of cat food for Crookshanks; he was very particular and wouldn't eat anything else. As she reached the door of the Menagerie, another customer walked up to the shop as well, and she slammed into the person with full force. The person thankfully had quick reflexes and grabbed her by the arms to keep both of them from falling.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" Hermione gasped before she caught a good look of the person she'd run into. Her breath caught in her throat as she realised that it was none other than Draco Malfoy. His face was just as thin and tired-looking as it had been on Friday, though it had a bit more colour in it. He nodded briskly and said in formal tones, "It's quite alright. After you," he gestured at the door to the Menagerie. Hermione flushed with embarrassment and scurried into the shop.

After purchasing the correct cat food, Hermione glanced surreptitiously over at where Draco was standing. She was curious as to why he was at the Menagerie—buying owl treats, perhaps? But no, he was standing near the Kneazle kittens, staring into the cage.

Hermione's curiosity got the better of her and she walked over to Draco. "Hi," she greeted. "Sorry to bother you, but—just—are you thinking of getting a cat, by any chance?" She smiled kindly at his blank expression. "I've got a half-Kneazle; I don't know if you knew that. His name's Crookshanks," she babbled.

Draco stared at her for a moment in bewilderment and then slowly answered, "My cat—Artemis—died last month. And so here I am." He smiled dismally.

Hermione averted her eyes from his face, not wanting to insult him by letting her sympathy show so openly on her face. He might see it as pity and take offence. Instead, she let her eyes wander aimlessly over the pile of sleepy Kneazle and half-Kneazle kittens laying in the cage. There were colours and patterns of every sort.

"Well, you certainly have your pick of the litter," Hermione commented. Draco nodded shortly and remained quiet. Hermione continued her perusal of the kittens, noting that one seemed separated from the rest. It was smaller than the others, and a plain grey colour. Hermione reached in to pet it. It pushed its tiny head against her fingers, clearly longing for attention.

Draco noticed and reached in to take the kitten out. He cradled it with a gentleness that Hermione never would have imagined him possessing. The clerk noticed and called out, "You don't want that one. It's the runt of the litter. Half-blind as well."

Hermione scowled. Could she not escape prejudice anywhere? She opened her mouth to retort, but Draco beat her to it. "It's fine," he said quietly but firmly. "I'll take her." The clerk shrugged, clearly not bothered either way, and rang him up. Draco carefully tucked the kitten into his cloak pocket, her small head poking out but the rest of her body warmly nestled in the expensive fabric. Within moments, she was asleep.

At the sight of the sleeping kitten, Hermione smiled. Who knew Draco Malfoy had a soft spot for animals? She never would've guessed it back when they were 16. Hermione glanced at Draco's face. He was looking at her with a curious, guarded expression. Hermione was reminded immediately of an abused animal.

"So, Draco," Hermione said deliberately. "What are you going to name her?" She nodded at the kitten.

Draco started a bit and glanced down at the kitten. "I hadn't thought of it yet," he replied. After a beat of silence, he said hesitantly, "Do you have any ideas?"

Hermione cocked her head to the side, trying not to look too pleased that he'd asked her. "Well, she looks like a Cliodna to me."

"Cliodna," Draco repeated. "That sounds perfect, actually." He laughed softly. "Thank you."

He was turning away to leave when Hermione called out. "Draco?"

"Yes?"

"I was wondering," Hermione paused uncertainly. "If it's alright with you, would I be able to come visit sometime to see how Cliodna is doing?" Immediately after saying it, she felt silly.

He took a moment to reply, but when he did it made Hermione smile widely in relief. "Yes, I think that could be arranged."

"Thanks, Draco. See you," she replied. He nodded at her and walked up the street. Hermione had to stifle giggles that were bordering on hysteria. The way things were going, it seemed she was destined to become friends with Draco Malfoy.

The days passed, and when Thursday rolled around, Hermione received some unsettling news from Ron.

"Dinner is off this Friday," he told Hermione and Harry during lunch. "Dad wouldn't say why, just said that he and mum were going to be busy."

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Is it because of how I acted last time I was there? I tried sending Molly a note apologising but it just came back unopened—"

"I don't know, mate." Ron interrupted, shaking his head. "Dad didn't mention anything except that they'd be busy. Just leave it alone for now, Mum'll come around when she's ready."

Harry sighed, raking his hand through his already messy hair. "I can't stand her being cross with me," he said mournfully. "What if something happens and I never get to apologise?"

"Harry, don't worry about it," Hermione said soothingly. "Molly knows you love her, she just needs to be left alone for now."

Ron clapped Harry on the back bracingly, and stood up from the table. "Let's go," he suggested. "I could use some practise with my duelling skills."

Hermione smiled gratefully at Ron before the two men left. It wasn't that Harry was bothering her, but it was so difficult to get him out of his dark moods. Ron had learned quickly that a session of duelling usually helped Harry expel his bad feelings rather than through conversation. Luckily they were in the same department and were allowed access to rooms created specially for duelling practise. Ron had been mentioning lately that he wanted to settle down into a less intense job, though. He'd wanted to help after the war, and now that most of the Death Eaters were either dead or in Azkaban, he'd acknowledged that being an Auror just wasn't for him. He'd not mentioned it to Harry; it was yet another secret Hermione and Ron had withheld from their closest friend. Hermione could tell it was weighing on Ron's shoulders and knew the truth would have to come out soon.

She returned to her office and decided on a whim to send Draco a note. This Friday was the perfect opportunity to establish a tentative friendship with her former classmate.

_Draco,_

_I don't know if you heard from Arthur already, but this Friday's dinner at the Weasleys' is off. I thought that perhaps I could stop by to see how Cliodna is doing, and we could maybe make a dinner of it?_

_Let me know,_

_Hermione_

She sent the memo flying through her doorway to Draco's department. She felt that a work memo was less personal than an owl. If he got it at work in the form of a memo it wouldn't draw attention to him in the way an owl would, in any case.

Hermione went back to work on her case for the rest of the day. She was broken out of her trancelike state when a purple paper aeroplane zoomed down onto her papers. She unfolded it with trepidation, worried that she'd gone too far in inviting herself over.

_Hermione,_ the paper read,

_Thank you for letting me know about the Friday dinner. Arthur informed me already and invited me to next week's gathering. Come to the Manor at 7 PM; I'll have dinner prepared for us._

_Malfoy Manor is located at Little Frith, Savernake Forest, Wiltshire England._

_Draco_

Hermione smiled. Of course the Manor was secret-kept; she'd been there just the one momentous time, but she'd been Apparated there by Snatchers. She found it ironic that the Manor was located in a public-access forest, yet was completely hidden from Muggles. It must have generations upon generations of ancient magic protecting it. Despite herself, Hermione was impressed.

She decided to leave work at the time she was assigned for once. She stopped by Susan's desk to tell her she was leaving. Susan looked up, surprised. "But you never leave without me coming to tear you away from that bloody proposal of yours!" Susan exclaimed. "Are you feeling alright?" Her eyes expressed genuine concern mingled with bemusement.

"I'm fine, just thought I'd take advantage of my early work hours for once," Hermione replied nonchalantly. Susan's eyes narrowed with suspicion but she seemed to let the matter go. "Alright then, I'll see you tomorrow. Go on, I'll not keep you here on the one day you decide to leave of your own volition!" Hermione laughed and went to the Atrium to Floo home.

She arrived to a loudly purring Crookshanks. He'd been waiting by the hearth as if he'd known she'd come home at that very moment. "Hungry, are you?" she remarked lightly. Crookshanks wound his way around her legs and purred even more loudly. Hermione rolled her eyes and, smiling, made her way to the kitchen to locate Crookshank's food. Once she'd deposited it into his bowl, she leaned against the countertop, observing him. He was getting on in his years, but it didn't show. His ginger fur was still lustrous and vibrant and he still acted like a young cat. Hermione reckoned he had at least one good decade left in him, seeing as he was half-Kneazle.

Her musings on pets brought her mind around to the inevitable: her impending trip to Malfoy Manor. Her throat tightened as she imagined the imposing building and her last, and only, visit there. Would the drawing room have changed? Would being in that castle of a home bring back old and terrifying memories?

She brushed her concerns aside; she'd deal with them as they came on Friday. She set about creating a light dinner for herself, soup and a salad, and settled down at her small table to eat. As the night progressed, she felt the loneliness settle around her like an old, familiar blanket. Hermione knew it was an aftereffect of the War. The Muggles called it Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. The only person she'd talked about it with was Ron, and she hated having to use him as a crutch whenever she felt it set in. So, most of the time, she ignored it and went about her life as though everything were normal, as if she hadn't seen people tortured and killed—sometimes by her own wand—all before she'd turned 20.

Hermione cleaned the kitchen with a tired wave of her wand. Her kitchen was a comfortable blend of Muggle and magical items. Since their disastrous time spent on the run during the War, Hermione had taken it upon herself to learn how to cook. She found cooking the Muggle way soothing and therapeutic, and strangely like potions. Put ingredients in a pot, see whether the result was palatable or not. She was no great cook, certainly no Molly Weasley, but she was decent enough and enjoyed it enough to cook as often as possible.

_Perhaps I should bring something to the Manor tomorrow night._ Hermione perused her pantry, trying to get ideas. If anything she could bring some sort of pudding. She decided upon treacle tart. She'd made it enough times for Harry to have perfected her recipe. Hermione mixed the ingredients and when the tart was ready, set it in her icebox to wait until the next day. She yawned. It was only 9 o'clock but she felt exhausted—part of the War's aftereffect, she supposed.

She crawled into bed and Crookshanks joined her a moment later, still purring loudly. Hermione vaguely remembered reading somewhere that cats' purring had slight healing effects and smiled before she fell into a deep, uninterrupted sleep.

_Cliodna (pronounced "cleev-nah") comes from the very helpful HP-Lexicon website; she is a witch featured on a Chocolate Frog card. She was, according to the website, the Celtic goddess of beauty and the eldest daughter of the last Druid of Ireland. Savernake Forest is a forest in Wiltshire, England. I wanted the Manor to be in a forest to add some mystery and I liked the look of Savernake. I also figured that if anyone could have a giant manor hidden in a public-access forest, it would be the Malfoys!_


	3. Foreground

_Many thanks to my first reviewer, Jigoku no Namida! I appreciate the feedback very much. Hope you enjoy this chapter; sorry it took so long! The song that accompanies this chapter is "Foreground (Instrumental)" by Grizzly Bear._

That Friday morning Hermione woke feeling like a bundle of nerves. She was nervous about going to Malfoy Manor, yet excited and curious. She took extra-special care with her hair that morning before she realised how silly she was being. _It's not like this is a date,_ she reminded herself. She scrutinised her reflection in the mirror. A pale, round face framed with madly curling hair stared back at her. Even when she'd lost all of that weight while being on the run, her round cheeks remained. Her eyes were large and dark and a little sad, but that was only if you looked hard. A light spattering of freckles danced across the bridge of her nose, and her thin lips quirked into a wry smile.

She'd never be a great beauty like Fleur, or Ginny, but she was alright. The last time she'd felt truly beautiful was during the Yule Ball in her fourth year. The floaty periwinkle robes, her hair straightened to perfection…but that wasn't her, really. One thing Hermione had learned from being with Ron for over two years was that beauty was extremely objective. Ever since then she'd learned not to get too fussed over her appearance.

Her thoughts turned to her former boyfriend as she thought of her upcoming meeting with Draco. Ron wouldn't judge her if she told him what her plans were for later that night, and she greatly needed to get some of her initial nervousness off of her chest. She didn't want to tell Susan just yet; she knew Susan wouldn't take to the idea very well at all. Yes, she'd tell Ron at lunch—they could go to that lovely café in Muggle London they'd discovered a year ago, and they'd easily evade Harry if they told him it was a date.

Resolved, Hermione finished getting ready for work and Flooed to the Ministry a few minutes later. She was early by a quarter hour, but that was alright. She'd be able to evade Susan and send off a memo to Ron to make sure he'd be able to make it to lunch.

An hour before her lunch break at noon, Hermione received a memo from Ron affirming their lunch date. She was immensely relieved; Susan had noticed something was going on and Hermione was horrible at keeping secrets from her. She desperately needed to talk to someone, to bounce ideas off of them and get their opinion.

At noon Hermione sprang from her seat and rushed to the exit of the Ministry. Once out in Muggle London, she caught a cab and instructed the driver to take her to the Pleiades Café. She was there in record time and tipped the driver generously.

Ron was waiting at their usual table with a menu open in front of him. Though they'd been there many times in the last three years, Ron always insisted on perusing the menu and trying whatever dish was a new addition. Hermione rotated her choices between three meals: the quinoa cakes, the fried tofu sandwich, and the tempeh salad. One reason they had ended up making the Pleiades Café "their" restaurant was because of the large variety of vegetarian items on the menu.

Hermione had given up meat directly after the war; it reminded her too much of death at first. Then, as her body recovered from the war both physically and mentally, she began to contemplate giving up meat permanently. Soon after that, Hermione decided to become a vegetarian. None of her friends really understood her rationale behind the decision, but they quickly got used to it. Hermione supposed they chalked it up to her passion for equality, just like when she started S.P.E.W.

"Hey," Ron greeted as she sat down across from him. "What's the occasion? It's been a while since we've been here," he asked.

"No reason," Hermione said. Ron stared at her for a moment and she huffed, rolling her eyes. "Oh, fine, I just needed to talk to you away from Harry. Happy now?" She glowered.

Ron chuckled. "Extremely. What was it you wanted to talk to me about then?" Hermione opened her mouth to answer, but the waitress interrupted them. Hermione ordered the tempeh salad, while Ron decided on the new quiche on the menu. Hermione waited until the waitress was far away, and then said in one quick breath, "I'm meeting with Malfoy tonight."

Ron's eyes bugged out. "Malfoy? Draco Malfoy, as in our mortal enemy since we were firsties? _That _Malfoy?" When Hermione nodded, he stared at her suspiciously. "_Why?_"

"Well, I—I ran into him at the Menagerie," Hermione began. "I had to pick up some food for Crooks, and Malfoy was there…buying a kitten." Ron stared at her as though she'd grown an extra head. "And we got to talking, and truthfully I feel a bit sorry for him. He's obviously not the same as he was back in school, and he's clearly very alone right now. And if Arthur was happy to invite him into his home for dinner, then I think I'll trust his judgement and assume that Malfoy really has changed for the better."

Ron sat quietly for a moment, while Hermione nervously shredded her napkin. "I see," Ron said slowly. "Well, Hermione, I know you don't make decisions rashly. If you want to try and be friends with the Ferret, then that's your choice. And I know you can take care of yourself. Just…be careful, alright?"

Hermione beamed at Ron. "Thanks, Ron. I can't talk to anyone else about this, really, and you know me the best out of everyone. It's a relief to be able to talk about it," she confessed.

Ron smiled easily, patting her hand. "No problem. Just don't expect me to become friends with him, that's all I ask. And, Hermione? You _are_ going to have to tell Harry, eventually. Especially if you become _friends_," he said the word as though it left a bad taste in his mouth, "with Malfoy. We're already keeping too many secrets from him, yeah?"

Hermione nodded soberly. She knew all too well how Harry would take it if he found out about either secret—her and Ron's breakup, or the fact that she was trying to befriend Malfoy—from someone other than her or Ron. Their food arrived shortly and they talked of trivial nonsense through rest of their lunch.

They parted ways once they reached the Ministry; Ron hugged Hermione unexpectedly and reminded her once more, "Be careful." Hermione was struck with the sense that he was not warning her about Malfoy's dangerousness but rather something else entirely. Her brow furrowed as she watched Ron's broad back walk away from her. Oh well, she'd have to think on it later. She was late coming back from lunch and threw herself into her work once she was ensconced again in her office.

Hours later, Hermione stood in front of her mirror at home. She'd changed out of her work clothes and into a set of slightly fancy robes in a delicate shade of lilac. She wrestled her curls into a loose plait and, satisfied with her reflection, focussed the location of Malfoy Manor firmly in her mind. With a neat pop, she appeared in a rather large meadow in the middle of a forest. An intimidating structure lay directly in front of her: Malfoy Manor. She stood stock-still for a moment, unwillingly remembering the last time she'd been there. The rank smell of the Snatchers, the sheer terror that they'd really messed up that time, that they wouldn't get out of it alive—

She shook herself. It wouldn't do to dwell on bad memories. Hermione set her shoulders and walked up the long drive surrounded by yew hedges to the door, which still had a serpentine knocker on the front. She reached out for it hesitantly, knocking it twice firmly against the heavy door. Barely a second later, the door swung in to reveal a small house elf. It was clad in a crisp pillowcase with the Malfoy crest embroidered on the corner.

"Miss is prompt!" it squeaked. "Come in, please, Miss Granger." It bowed and swept to the side simultaneously. Hermione entered feeling, as always, slightly uncomfortable and guilty at the majestic treatment. "Thank you," she said to the elf. "What's your name?"

The elf gazed up at her with a bemused expression. "I is called Zef, Miss."

"Nice to meet you, Zef." Hermione replied. Zef's ears folded back slightly. He looked a bit troubled that she was addressing him as an equal. "Might I ask where your—erm, _master_ is?" Hermione asked, feeling her face twist at the term.

"He's right here," Draco's voice rang out behind her. She turned to see him standing in the foyer, wearing—of all things—a pair of Muggle trousers, a Muggle button down and, strangely, a pair of violet socks.

"Zef, you can go back to the kitchen now," Draco said to the elf. His tone surprised Hermione. It wasn't strict, but calm and even sounded like more of a request than an order. The elf looked relieved and popped out of existence, no doubt eager to get away from the strange woman who tried to have a conversation with him.

"Good evening," Draco greeted her. "I'm sorry for the inconvenience, but we—I only have Zef left in my service. He insisted on getting the door," he said a tad sheepishly.

"It's fine," Hermione said slowly. "You've only got one house elf? Sorry to sound rude, but—honestly I expected you'd have a whole cavalry of them here."

"We used to. They left after Father…went away." Draco said shortly.

"Ah," Hermione's face blazed. She tried to think of something else to talk about, anything to make the awkward atmosphere disappear. "Oh! I forgot to tell you—I'm a vegetarian," she blurted.

Draco stared at her with a puzzled expression. "A what?"

"A vegetarian; I don't eat any meat. Or seafood," Hermione explained. "I hope that Zef can adjust tonight's menu, if it's not too much trouble."

Draco raised an eyebrow and she felt a wave of nostalgia; he looked almost as he had back in school. "That shouldn't be a problem," he said, looking at her with appraisement. "I was planning on serving a pasta without meat, anyway. I find that it turns my stomach, sometimes."

Hermione felt grateful and flabbergasted at once. On one hand, it was thoughtful of Draco to confess this small detail about himself to her, but on the other hand, it was Draco Malfoy empathising with her and trying to make her feel comfortable instead of the other way around, as she'd expected it was going to be.

"That's how I feel," she confessed. "It just…doesn't feel right."

A moment of slightly awkward silence followed. It was interrupted by Draco clearing his throat and gesturing down the hallway. "Let's go to the dining room, shall we?" Hermione nodded hastily and followed Draco down the long hallway, surreptitiously wiping her clammy palms against the fabric of her robes. Draco walked through an open elaborate set of doors and Hermione followed, expecting a lavishly decorated room with glittering chandeliers dripping with jewels, or something of the sort; a miniature Versailles.

She was surprised again by the sparseness of the room. There was a large dining table—it could have easily fit the whole Weasley family and then some—but other than that, it was devoid of any large decorations. The table was set for two at the end closest to the doors, and a small vase on the table was filled with late summer wildflowers. It was almost…quaint.

Draco gestured to her seat, and remained standing until she sat down. For a second Hermione felt as though she were in a period novel, _Pride and Prejudice_ or _Jane Eyre_, but then she glanced at Draco in his Muggle attire and the feeling passed. Zef popped in abruptly, making Hermione jump in her seat a bit. He placed the food on the table, bowed once, and disappeared.

"Wine?" Draco asked as he served Hermione a hearty helping of the pasta. "Please," Hermione said gratefully. A little liquid courage would be extremely helpful. A bottle of chardonnay appeared on the table and poured itself into Hermione's glass.

Hermione realised in the tense silence that Draco had invited her to dinner not out of genuine friendliness, but more out of an observation of etiquette. His stiff posture and downcast eyes were the very picture of social anxiety. Hermione felt a bit relieved at seeing it, glad she wasn't the only one who felt out of place. She hadn't expected to become instant friends with someone who she had such a tumultuous history with—it simply didn't work that way.

"So, Draco," Hermione said, her voice slicing through the silence with all the subtlety of a dull blade. Her host's head jerked a bit at the noise, and he reluctantly lifted his eyes away from his plate. "Tell me more about your job. I can tell from how you talked about it last time I saw you that you're one of the few people who actually likes their job," Hermione said, smiling.

Draco's posture relaxed as he explained his job to Hermione—how he got to go about Muggle London helping clear up minor scuffles between the Wizarding world and the Muggle one, how he sometimes accompanied Arthur on trips to Muggleborn children's houses to inform them that they were magical and explain the phenomenon to the children's bewildered parents. He waxed poetic about the intricacies of technology and science that Muggles had invented and discovered, and by the end of their dinner, his face was flushed with a healthy glow. It was the happiest Hermione had ever seen him in her whole life.

The conversation flowed all through dessert; they moved on from Draco's job to Hermione's, then to a multitude of decidedly random topics. They discovered that they both loved Chopin's nocturnes, the poems of e.e. cummings, and both agreed that the only proper way to enjoy chocolate was to accompany it with a glass of Pinot Noir.

As Zef cleared the last plate, Draco remarked, "Granger, you came here to see Cliodna, did you not?" He had a strangely gentle smile on his face and for a second Hermione was at a loss for words. "Well, yes," Hermione replied slowly. "But dinner with you was a lovely bonus."

Draco's cheeks flushed pink for a second and then he stood, gesturing towards the door. "I'll take you to her," he said, his tone formal. They seemed to have lost their comfortable rapport and Hermione felt disappointed. _Two steps forward, one step back, Hermione_.

"Thank you," she said to him quietly. He inclined his head and lead her down the hallway to a small room. It looked like some sort of study, with a fireplace blazing on one wall and bookshelves covering the rest. A small _mew_ caught her attention and she saw Cliodna stretching in front of the fire. Hermione's heart swelled at the sight of the tiny kitten. Knowing that Draco had rescued this small creature, despite having the pick of the rest of the healthier and prettier litter, made her all the more certain that there really was something more to Draco. Something worth discovering and exploring.

After petting the kitten and cooing over her for a few minutes, Hermione was startled by the soft chime of a grandfather clock. It was ten o'clock. Hermione turned to Draco and saw that he was stifling a yawn. "I think I've overstayed my welcome long enough," Hermione said lightly. "I had a lovely time, Draco. I think we should do this again," she stated frankly.

She could tell by Draco's face that he was taken aback, but not adverse. "I…I'd like that," he replied. From the look on Draco's face, both of them were surprised by his honest response. Hermione smiled at him and said, "I'll show myself out. Good night, Draco."

She Apparated home, feeling conflicted. He clearly wasn't the same person he was in school, and she very much thought that the Draco she'd seen tonight could become a good friend. It made her head pound to compare him to how he'd been before, how she'd always known him. She sighed and rubbed her temples briefly before deciding to Floo call Ron. He'd be a good sounding board and he was surprisingly logical; he'd help her work through this problem.

But when she called, Ron's end of the call remained empty and green—he wasn't answering her Floo. Perplexed, Hermione withdrew her head from the hearth and sat back on her hands. It wasn't strange that Ron wasn't answering; no doubt he was out with Harry or George, or one of his Auror mates. Still, Hermione felt a bit let down. She huffed and turned her head to the side to avoid the glare of the flames. She thought on who she could talk to. Certainly not Harry or Susan; perhaps Ginny, but she tended to tell Harry almost everything. Then it came to her.

"Hello, Hermione," Luna's dreamy voice floated out of the fireplace.

"Hi, Luna," Hermione said, smiling. "How was South America?"

"Oh, it was lovely," Luna said. "I discovered thirty-seven new species."

"Thirty-seven, really?" Hermione was momentarily distracted. "You'll have to tell me more about it. Listen, can you come over tomorrow sometime? I'd love to catch up."

They arranged for Luna to come to Hermione's house for lunch the next day, and Hermione ended the Floo call feeling slightly better about her conflicting thoughts. Having Luna to talk to about it would be liberating. Luna was one of the kindest people she'd met; she held no ill will towards anyone who'd been on the Dark side during the War. Even the Malfoys, whose dungeons she'd been imprisoned in. Hermione knew she would be able to confide in her.

The next morning, Hermione woke up feeling refreshed. It was a beautiful day, sunny and crisp, and she felt the most content she'd been in a long time. She got up and enjoyed a cup of tea on her porch, Crookshanks prowling in the long grasses in front of her, pouncing on insects.

At 11:45, Hermione was just finishing preparing a light lunch for her and Luna to share when the fireplace flared green. Luna stepped out gracefully, dressed in lurid polka-dotted robes.

"Luna!" Hermione rushed over to give her friend a tight hug. It'd been ages since she saw Luna; she'd been away on apprenticeship with Newt Scamander in South America for the last two years.

"Greetings, Hermione," Luna responded. "I'm happy to see you looking so robust."

Hermione stifled a laugh and replied, "Thank you, Luna. You look amazing." And indeed she did: Luna's normally pale skin had a healthy tan and her dirty blonde hair had lightened from considerable time spent in the sun.

The two women sat down at Hermione's table and began to catch up. Hermione relayed her situation to Luna, with Luna listening silently and attentively. "I just can't seem to get my mind around the new Malfoy. It keeps conflicting with what I remember of him in school," Hermione finished. Most of the food was gone, and Hermione belatedly took a large gulp of water from her glass.

"I think you've solved your problem right there," Luna said lightly. "If the issue is your two 'images' of Malfoy, why not stop thinking like that? Don't try to compare him to who he was, just let him be Malfoy."

Hermione sat, stunned, for a long second. Of course Luna would come up with the most obvious and simple solution. Getting her mind to cooperate, however, was another trial.

"Urgh, enough about my silly problems," Hermione groaned. "Tell me about the thirty-seven species you discovered. I want to hear about every single one of them!"

Luna smiled serenely and reached up to brush her wavy hair behind one ear. As she did, a glint of gold caught the light. "Wait a minute," Hermione blurted, leaning forward and catching Luna's hand. "_Luna._ You didn't…?"

"Oh, yes, I forgot," Luna replied blandly. "Rolf Scamander—Newt's grandson, you know—and I are engaged."

"I…you let me talk about _my_ problems for an hour and didn't say _anything?_" Hermione was flabbergasted. "Luna, this is huge! And is this ring made from _Graphorn_ horn?"

"Yes, it is. And really, Hermione, it's not a big deal. We don't plan on getting married for at least another decade."

"Er. And why is that?" Hermione readied herself for another one of Luna's fantastical theories.

"Rolf will be in Nepal for the next five years researching the undiscovered magical species there. And after that, we'd like to get to know each other better," Luna said matter-of-factly.

"Good plan," Hermione said, half-sarcastic. Only Luna would meet a man, get engaged, then wait five years to get to know the man she was engaged to. "Absence makes the heart fonder, and all that…"

Luna nodded sagely, then glanced at her wrist. She wasn't wearing a watch. "Well, Hermione, it looks like it's about that time. I don't want to be keeping you."

Hermione stood to hug her friend, and before Luna stepped into the fireplace, something occurred to Hermione. "Luna?" Luna looked at her, head cocked to the side. "Is Rolf…is he a good man?"

Luna's smile grew until a wide, beatific grin spread across her face. "He's wonderful," she replied with complete certainty.

"Good," Hermione stated. "That…that's good. See you around."

Hermione walked back to the dining room, absent-mindedly waving her wand and sending the dishes and leftover food to the kitchen, then walking back to the living room. She collapsed on her couch. A few seconds later, Crookshanks had jumped up onto her belly, a purring mass of orange fur. Hermione automatically began stroking his fur, the movement almost cathartic.

Luna was engaged. Luna, who Hermione loved with all her heart but never though of as a romantic being. What had she been thinking, that Luna was too dotty to want a partner? People probably thought that about Hermione—bookish, intelligent Hermione who cared more about her work than her social life. The only romance Hermione had ever experienced had been with Ron. Viktor Krum didn't count; they'd been too young. And even with Ron it'd been a comfortable romance, an easy romance. There was passion, yes, but mostly when they bickered or argued. They'd both learned what they really wanted after their failed relationship. Ron wanted a woman who could rely on him, even looked up to him, whereas Hermione wanted someone who was her equal, especially in the area of intellect.

_But when have I ever met someone who was my intellectual equal?_ Hermione pondered to herself. Before her maudlin thoughts could really set in, the fireplace flared green and Susan's head floated into view. Hermione sat up in a rush and practically leapt to the fireplace.

"They found out," Susan gasped, sobbing hysterically.

"Who found out?" Hermione asked, alarmed. Her hands fluttered, not knowing what to do—how did one comfort a person via Floo?

"Padma's parents! They found out about us," Susan moaned.

"Susan, I'm coming over," Hermione said, her voice brooking no argument. Susan nodded miserably. Hermione stepped through the fireplace and emerged in Susan and Padma's flat. Susan was sitting on the floor in her pyjamas, tissues laying around her like crumpled white flowers. Hermione immediately sat next to Susan and embraced her, feeling the other girl shudder with every cry that rippled through her body.

"There, there," Hermione murmured a bit awkwardly. She'd never been the best at comforting people. "It's not so bad as that, is it?" When Susan looked up confusedly, Hermione explained. "Er, well, there's not much Padma's parents can do about it if they don't approve, right?"

Susan's crying slowed. "Well, no, but—but what if Padma leaves me?" Her tearful face stared up at Hermione. "What if she chooses them over me?"

Hermione opened her mouth to answer, and then felt a presence behind her. She glanced over her shoulder to see Padma standing in the doorway looking surprisingly calm. Her gaze was fixed affectionately on Susan's tear-covered face and she wore a small smile on her lips. Hermione let go of Susan and said, "Why don't you ask Padma herself?" She stood up and made her way to the fireplace, sensing she wasn't needed anymore.

Padma crouched down next to Susan, her hand rubbing soothing circles on Susan's back. "It's too late for that, Sue," she said. "I already told them that I choose you."

Susan's eyes widened. "Padma," she breathed. "You didn't…"

Padma nodded serenely. "Yes, I did. I told them they'd have to either disown me or get used to the fact that I love you, and I always will. I left before they could say anything."

Susan was still staring at her partner in disbelief when Padma lowered herself onto one knee. She reached into her pocket as she said, with only a slight tremor in her voice, "I know we're young, but I don't ever want to be without you, Susan. Will you marry me?"

"Yes!" Susan burst out. Padma slid the ring on to Susan's finger; both of the women were crying. "Yes, yes, yes," Susan sobbed. She embraced Padma tightly.

Hermione's throat grew tight and she stealthily made her exit via Floo. She knew Susan and Padma wouldn't have noticed her departure, being so caught up in their moment. Hermione felt as though she'd witnessed something that should have been private, but at the same time she felt honoured to have seen the exchange of love between the two women. While she was closest with Susan, Padma was a lovely woman and Hermione thought she and Susan balanced each other out quite well. They had an easy exchange between them that Hermione had only observed in much older couples, including her parents.

Hermione returned to her former position on the couch next to a disgruntled Crookshanks. Her mind turned to her previous musings. So, there were two of her closest girlfriends engaged. Ginny and Harry had been married a little over a year now, and they'd been a predictable couple if there ever was one. But Luna and Susan, so close together? Hermione couldn't help but feel envious.

As soon as she vocalised the thought in her head, Hermione felt ashamed. How could she be so petty? She should be happy that Susan and Padma even found each other; homosexuality in the Wizarding world wasn't even completely acknowledged and they'd no doubt face judgment from the majority of the world for a long time. Yet another completely pointless case of inequality that Hermione burned to eradicate. Perhaps equal rights for same sex couples would be her next obstacle to tackle.

Later that night, Hermione received an owl from Ron. Hermione took the letter from a furiously hopping Pig and read it.

_Hermione—_

_ I think tomorrow we should meet at the Burrow to tell my parents. It's the right time. Does 2 o'clock work for you? Send a reply with Pig; I've told him to wait._

_Ron_

Hermione penned a quick affirmative and sent Pig off into the night. It would no doubt be hard to break the news to Molly and Arthur, but Ron was right. It was time. She hoped Ron was moving on, because that meant she could too.

She was ready.


	4. Something Lost Along the Way

_A huge thank-you to everyone who has favourited, watched, or added alerts of any sort to this story! It really makes me happy to see that people like this. The song that goes with this chapter is "Elephant & Castle" by The Age of Rockets. Enjoy!_

Sunday morning rolled around. Hermione's stomach was in knots over the impending meeting with the Weasleys. She knew it was time to tell Molly and Arthur about her and Ron's breakup, but that didn't mean she could convince her mind to not worry about losing the elder Weasleys as parental figures. They'd been a constant in her life ever since she was 12, and she didn't want to lose them. She remembered how betrayed Molly had acted when she thought Hermione was dating Harry during fourth year—all of that rubbish printed by Rita Skeeter—and she desperately hoped that Molly had gotten past that sort of pettiness.

She took care to dress extra nice: a ruffled violet blouse paired with her favourite skirt; it mimicked the night sky with midnight silk and glimmering twinkles here and there, subtle enough to not be ostentatious. Hermione slipped her feet into black flats and nervously checked the time; it was only 11. She read a book without really seeing the words and ate a quick lunch, wishing that someone had come up with a way to travel _forward_ in time and not just back.

At last, two o'clock rolled around and Hermione Apparated to the Burrow. Molly and Arthur had set up tea on a small iron table out in the garden that seated four people, and Ron seemed to not be present yet. Hermione smiled nervously as Molly spotted her and waved her over.

"Hello, darling," Molly said, giving Hermione such a motherly hug that it nearly brought tears to her eyes. "Where's Ronald? I thought the two of you would be arriving together."

"Here, Mum," Ron called out, walking briskly towards the table. "Sorry I'm late," he apologised.

"Quite alright," Arthur said jovially, clapping Ron on the back. "Tea?"

They sat down and Molly served them all tea and biscuits. The biscuits turned to sawdust in her mouth and Hermione gulped the scalding tea to wash them down, burning her tongue. After a few minutes of chit-chat, Ron looked at Hermione and nodded. "Mum, Dad," he began. "We need to tell you something."

Arthur straightened up slightly in his chair at the serious tone in Ron's voice. Molly looked strangely calm. "We—we've broken up," Hermione blurted. "It was about a month ago."

"We didn't want to hurt you, and there never seemed to be a right time to tell anyone…" Ron trailed off lamely. "I'm sorry. _We're_ sorry."

Arthur exhaled and leaned back in his chair. Molly looked from Ron to Hermione, and smiled. "Is that all?"

"I was worried, I thought one of you were ill," Arthur chuckled. "Don't scare us like that next time, son."

"Wh—you aren't mad?" Ron spluttered.

"Of course not! Why would I be mad?" Molly exclaimed. "I could see it coming long before the two of you cottoned on." Hermione and Ron gaped at the Weasley matriarch. "Darlings, if you think I've gone through raising seven children of my own without being this perceptive, you've got another think coming."

Hermione slumped in her seat and buried her face in her hands. "I was so worried," she moaned. "I thought you'd _hate_ me!"

"Ah, fourth year, was it?" Molly asked sheepishly. "Not my finest hour, that. Hermione, you'll always be my second daughter, in my eyes. Whether or not you marry one of my children isn't going to change that." She stood from her seat and embraced Hermione in another one of those motherly hugs, and this time it did make Hermione cry.

A loud _pop_ in the air signalled the arrival of someone at the Burrow. "Mum?" Ginny's voice rang out. "It's me and Harry, he wants to apologise but he's being bashful, the stupid git—,"

Ginny appeared in the garden, Harry trailing behind her. "What's all this, then?"

"You finally proposed, didn't you?" Harry exclaimed, his face splitting into a wide grin. "I knew it!" Then he seemed to notice Hermione's teary face and Ron's eyes avoiding his. "No…"

"We broke up, Harry," Ron said dully.

"Just now?" Harry asked, his voice cold. "Or have you been keeping it from me? That's why you've been acting so secretive lately; you've not been planning a proposal but you've been _keeping secrets_ from me."

"Harry, we're sorry!" Hermione cried. "We didn't want to upset you—,"

"Upset me?" Harry shook his head and removed his glasses, one hand pinching the bridge of his nose. "What's really upset me is my two best friends keeping something this big from me."

Hermione resisted the urge to run to Harry and hug him; the miserable expression on his face reminded her of when she first met him: emaciated and downtrodden, like a kicked puppy. She'd gladly kill the Dursleys for what they did to him.

And now she'd put that expression on his face.

"Harry…" Hermione's voice shook. "I'm so sorry."

"I don't understand why you couldn't just tell me." Harry's voice was quieter now. "I—I have to go," he mumbled, and Apparated on the spot.

Ginny stared at the spot where Harry had been, totally flabbergasted. "You two _broke up_ and you didn't tell anyone?!" she shrieked. "Seriously, what is wrong with you two?"

"We didn't want to because we knew you'd react like this!" Ron yelled. "Everyone expected us to get married, we didn't think you'd take it well!"

Ginny huffed and crossed her arms. "Well, you've really bollocksed it up now. Good job, Ronald. Harry's going to be in a right state for days." Ginny shook her head with disdain.

Hermione bit her lip. "Ginny…"

"And don't let me get started on you!" Ginny stared Hermione down, eyes blazing. "We're best friends, you could have at least told me! And really, if people knew the both of you, they wouldn't honestly expect you two to get married. You're so wrong for each other I don't see how you managed to get together in the first place." She rolled her eyes.

"I'm going to go find my husband, and I expect apology letters from the both of you in the post tomorrow!" Ginny Apparated with a whirl of her long red hair.

"Bloody hell," Ron groaned. Hermione blinked, and turned to see Arthur and Molly holding back chuckles. "It's like seeing into the future! Oh, Ginny will make a wonderful mother someday," Molly laughed.

"Was it that obvious to everyone?" Hermione asked after a beat of silence.

Molly sighed, still smiling, and placed a hand on Hermione's shoulder. "Dear, I hate to be the one to tell you, but yes. You and Ronald have always clashed, and while you're wonderful as friends…" She trailed off.

Arthur finished her sentence, "You'd have been horrible together if you'd continued dating."

"Thanks for warning us," Ron said sarcastically. He rubbed a hand over his face and sighed. "I think I'm going to go home and work on that apology letter to Harry."

"I think I'll do that as well," Hermione said. "We've got a lot of grovelling ahead of us to do, may as well get a head start on it."

"Remember, dear, you're always welcome here," Molly reminded her. "And dinner is on for next Friday."

"I'll be there," Hermione promised. "Goodbye!" She Apparated back to her house, feeling drained. Thank Merlin tomorrow was Monday. Unlike most of the world's population, Hermione actually looked forward to going to work. Not only was it satisfying, she'd be able to distract herself from the fight with Harry.

Hermione rubbed her furrowed temple and decided to get started on her apology letter to Harry. She wouldn't send it right away of course—Harry would be much less likely to read it then—but she wanted it out of the way, and it would be best to write it when the guilt was still fresh in her mind. She'd send it to him later in the week when he would be cooled down from his anger somewhat.

Hermione sat down at her desk and started to write.

A few days later, Hermione was in her office adjusting the draft of her proposal. Harry still wasn't speaking to either her or Ron, and it was beginning to grate on her nerves as well as her conscience. Harry typically wasn't one to hold grudges, but he was famously stubborn and Hermione supposed that after withholding the truth from him for a month, she and Ron deserved the silent treatment.

It was the end of the workday, but she was meeting with Kingsley before she left for home to show him her proposal draft. If he approved it, it would go to the Wizengamot to be passed through—or denied—as a law. She nervously gathered her things, nearly forgetting her wand (it was stuck through her bun, as per usual) and went to the Ministry lift to travel to the Minister's office.

"Ah, hello Hermione," Percy said briskly as she walked up to his desk. While Percy no longer held the dubious title of Junior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic, he was one of the Minister's many assistants and advisors. "The Minister is waiting in his office; you can step on in. Oh, and see you on Friday," he said with a small smile showing fleetingly across his professional veneer.

"Thanks, Percy," Hermione said, returning his smile. Percy was a lot more laid back, and he'd grown much closer with his younger siblings, George especially. Because of this, he'd changed from the stuffy, pompous prat that he'd been only a few years earlier. Hermione thought with a pang that Fred would have been pleasantly surprised at his brother's new character.

She knocked on the partially open door of Kingsley's office. Kingsley raised his head from the papers on his desk and smiled broadly at Hermione. "Hermione, come in," he greeted with his deep reassuring voice. "Close the door, too."

Hermione did as she was told and sat in the chair across from Kingsley's desk. "I've got the proposal all drafted up, and all I need now is for you to look over it and approve it to go through the Wizengamot," Hermione informed him. Kingsley put on a small pair of golden reading glasses and began to skim through the impressive amount of paper Hermione had handed him. She tried not to fidget as the time passed, and finally Kingsley set the papers down and took off his glasses.

"It's really good, Hermione," Kingsley said. Hermione straightened in her chair and opened her mouth to thank him. "But," Kingsley cut her off, "I need some more concrete evidence of the necessity of this law."

"What—what do you mean?" Hermione asked, her voice shaking slightly. "It's all laid out; the Elves, they're being treated like slaves, surely you've noticed—,"

"Hermione." Kingsley's calm voice cut through her babbling. "I'll repeat myself again. What you have is _good_. It's sound and logical. But we need some sort of proof from an actual House Elf, one that isn't happy with his or her position, to show to the Wizengamot."

"They'd have to testify?"

"Not necessarily." Kingsley leaned back in his chair. "You'd have to interview them, of course. And they'd need permission from their…_supervisor_ to do so. Otherwise, as you know, they'd try to punish themselves…" He trailed off thoughtfully. "It's not going to be easy to find a person to allow you to interview their Elf."

"I know," Hermione replied miserably. "I thought that my memories of Dobby would be enough testimony for that particular segment, but I suppose he was a special case…" She sighed. "I'll find someone. I'm not going to give up on this."

"That's the Hermione we know and love," Kingsley said, a smile spreading across his face. "You've no time limit for this, so don't worry too much over it."

After a few more moments of chit-chat, Hermione left Kingsley's office feeling a bit careworn. _No time limit_, she thought to herself. Well, no official time limit from the Ministry, but in her head she had a time limit, and it was always too late. Justice and equality were always long overdue, in Hermione's opinion.

She went home feeling exhausted, despite the minor success with the proposal. "Where on Earth am I going to find someone who'll allow me to interview their House Elf?" Hermione wondered out loud, Crookshanks purring away on her chest. "If only Dobby were still alive…"

That Friday, Hermione and Ron were eating lunch together in the Ministry cafeteria. Their dynamic was slightly off; after a week of eating together they began to realise that Harry brought a certain harmony to their daily lunches. Hermione was picking idly at her food when she saw a familiar mop of black hair approaching their table.

"'Lo," Harry mumbled.

"Harry…" Hermione breathed. "Sit with us?" she asked hopefully.

Harry sat at the table and a beat of silence followed. "I'm sorry!" Harry burst out just as Hermione and Ron began to same the same thing. The three of them looked at one another and laughed nervously.

"Harry, mate, we really are sorry," Ron said. Hermione nodded vigorously.

"I just don't see why you didn't tell me right away," Harry muttered. "It's not like I'd start making things explode just because you two broke up."

"Harry, we just didn't want to upset you," Hermione said gently. "You've got a lot on your plate right now with work."

"I don't get _that_ bad, do I?" Harry asked plaintively. "I know I was bad when I was a teenager—," Ron snorted. "—okay, I was _really_ bad when I was a teenager, but I've matured since then," Harry finished stubbornly.

"Oh, have you?" Ron said, good humour lacing his words. "Do you recall a certain event at the Burrow, oh, about a fortnight ago?"

Harry had the good grace to look ashamed. "That's—that's different," he defended. "It's _Malfoy_."

"I hate to break it to you, Harry, but Malfoy has changed," Hermione said sharply. "_All_ of us have changed. You'd better start acknowledging that if you want to act like a mature adult."

Harry looked as though he'd been slapped. "I—sorry, Hermione," he said, abashed. "You're absolutely right." He rubbed a hand across his eyes wearily. "It's just hard—not seeing him as the stupid git he was back in school."

"I know," Hermione said dully. "Believe me, I know."

The trio sat in silence for a moment, digesting their thoughts and finishing their lunches. "Well, I've got to be off," Hermione said briskly. "I've got a lot of research to do—," both Ron and Harry groaned good naturedly. "Oh, shut up," Hermione grumbled. "I'll see the both of you later tonight."

"Eh, we should be going too," Ron said. "We'll catch the lift with you." The three of them rode the lift up from the eighth floor to the fourth, where Hermione got off and said a hasty goodbye to the boys; their office was up on the second floor.

Hermione spent the rest of her day agonising over her meeting with Kingsley and the predicament that faced her. She didn't know anyone who owned a House Elf—at least one that would willingly do an interview with her. Kreacher certainly wouldn't be qualifiable for the interview; he loved serving wizards and witches…and only Pureblood witches and wizards nowadays owned House Elves…

Hermione nearly smacked herself for overlooking her most obvious resource: Draco. She quickly scribbled him a memo asking him for advice; surely he'd be able to let her interview his House Elf or he'd know of one she'd be able to talk to. For such a smart witch, she could be incredibly thick sometimes.

She knew she'd not thought of Draco right away because she was actively trying _not_ to think of him. Though Luna had given her incredibly sound advice, she still couldn't completely wrap her mind around liking Draco Malfoy as a person and wanting to be friends with him. A small part of her brain, the one that was Gryffindor through and through, was jumping up and down and shrieking, "He's the King of the Slytherins! He's a Pureblood and a former Death Eater! Are you _mad_?"

Draco's reply came just before she left for home; after reading his response she resolved to quash the tiny Gryffindor in her head and put her full effort forward into becoming Draco's friend.

_Hermione, _it read. _You are most welcome to interview Zef, though I can't say that he'll be very pleased or compliant about doing so. There is a household I can think of that uses House Elf service and has a few…unconventionally-minded House Elves in its employ. I will contact the head of the household to see if you'll be able to talk to some of their Elves. I won't be coming to dinner at the Weasleys' tonight, but give them my regards._

_-Draco_

She was once again struck by how out of character his penmanship seemed. It wasn't a fancy cursive adorned with flourishes and ornaments but a straight, narrow scrawl that slanted slightly to the left. It was plain and clean and wholly unlike what she thought the handwriting of a young Pureblood heir would be. Hermione thought it was a telling mark of his true character and took it as a positive sign that the friendship she was pursuing with him was the right thing to do. She smiled at the note and pocketed it; she needed to get home and change out of her work clothes in order to be ready to attend the weekly Weasley dinner.

Hermione arrived at the Burrow slightly late; she'd gotten caught up leaving the office by Susan who wanted to discuss the details of her wedding planning with Hermione. Hermione was touched to find out that she was going to be one of Susan's bridesmaids.

As she walked into the kitchen, she stumbled across a heated conversation occurring between Harry and Mrs. Weasley.

"Just because I spoke for him at his trial doesn't mean I want him invading my life—even as an acquaintance!" Harry all but shouted at Molly. He sighed and raked a hand through his hair. "Look, I'm sorry, but I can't change how I feel. I'll give him one chance, but that's it. And when he blows it, I'm done. He's gotten enough second chances in his life," he finished darkly.

"That's all I'm asking, dear," Molly said, reaching out a hand to smooth Harry's hair fondly. "I'll not have you antagonising him in my own home, mind," she scolded. "It's just when I see that boy, I see what very nearly happened to my own children, and…" She smiled tiredly. "When you're a father some day, you'll understand. You may not see my side now, but you'll come to understand in your own time."

Harry deflated a bit, either soothed by Molly's motherly touch or her words. "I'm sorry I acted like that in front of you," he mumbled. "I was out of line."

Molly embraced Harry, and he exhaled shakily. "I accept your apology, Harry," Molly said. "But you shouldn't be apologising to me. You need to apologise to Draco." Harry stiffened, but Molly pulled back and stared into his face. "You know you have to, darling. It's only right."

Harry nodded sullenly. Hermione watched him closely. Though he appeared grumpy, it was clear he wasn't really angry and she thought it was a good sign. Perhaps Harry would yet be able to accept Malfoy as he was and start anew with the other man.

"Glad to see that you two have made up," Hermione said. Harry and Molly glanced over at her; in the heat of their discussion they'd not noticed Hermione walking in. "I'm really pleased you're acting mature about this, Harry," Hermione added.

"Yeah, yeah," Harry brushed her comment off, ruffling the back of his head and looking remarkably like his late father. Hermione stifled a laugh. The rest of the Weasley dinner went without a hitch. Charlie was even there, a rare occasion as he lived in Wales and was usually busy with his work at the dragon reserve. Hermione had a lovely time with the crowd of people she considered her surrogate family, and went home tired but glowing with happiness.

When she arrived home, she failed to notice the letter from Draco sitting on her kitchen table right away. Draco had penned to let her know of the household that had House Elves she could interview. She read it quickly before she went to bed, and the happiness and colour from her face drained.

The name of the household stood out starkly on the paper.

_Parkinson Estate._


	5. Myth

_Shorter chapter again, but I've just started a new semester at school and I'm getting busy with projects! Sorry for that. The main song for this chapter is "Myth" by Beach House, but as a bonus there is also "Farewell to Dobby" by Alexandre Desplat, from the score to the first Deathly Hallows film. It's only appropriate for this chapter, after all._

Parkinson Estate.

The words stood out on the parchment, black and mocking. Was he mad? Did Draco really think that Pansy Parkinson would welcome her, Hermione Granger, into her home to _interview her House Elves_?

Pansy Parkinson had been a thorn in Hermione's side ever since she had started at Hogwarts back in 1991. She was a stuck up brat who delighted in mocking and humiliating Hermione and those she deemed beneath her. What really incensed Hermione was the fact that last time she saw Pansy—during the Battle at Hogwarts—Pansy had tried to hand Harry over to Voldemort. The despicable act had been the breaking point for Hermione, and Pansy Parkinson became one of the few people Hermione truly hated in the world.

Hermione sighed and rubbed at her temples. She tossed the parchment onto the table, and it flipped in the air, exposing a postscript written on the back of the paper. Hermione snatched up the letter and read the postscript quickly:

_P.S.—Hermione, if you aren't comfortable going to Parkinson Estate by yourself, I will accompany you. Let me know if that is the case. _

Though it was written with a short, almost terse manner, Hermione felt touched at the thought that Draco had put into the offer. It showed what lengths he was willing to go to truly become her friend, even if it made him slightly uncomfortable.

She thought on Draco's offer to accompany her over, but in the end decided to go on this venture alone. She was a Gryffindor, after all; she was blunt and foolhardy and many other things, but none of those things was cowardly. Hermione penned a quick reply to Draco thanking him for his offer and explaining that she would be going to Parkinson Estate alone.

She set the letter to the side; she'd have to make a trip to Diagon Alley to use the post office there. Hermione still didn't own an owl, though at times it became a nuisance. Crookshanks was all the animal she needed. Hermione searched for him and found him sprawled across her bed, directly on top of the pillow she used for her head. She picked him up swiftly and, despite his meows of protest, hugged him tightly against her chest.

After a few deep breaths, Hermione loosened her hold on Crookshanks and looked down at him. He was purring now and looking intently at her face with half-lidded golden eyes. "I'm going to have to contact her, aren't I?" Hermione murmured. Crookshanks only blinked in response and flopped out of her arms to resume his position on her pillow.

It was late, and Hermione didn't particularly feel like being civil in a letter to her old enemy. She rubbed at her eyes, smearing the scant amount of mascara she'd put on earlier in the day. "I think it can wait, right Crooks?" Hermione turned to glance at him, but her cat was already asleep.

"Right," Hermione answered herself.

It was at times like this that the silence of her house made her feel more lonesome than ever before. Hermione stoutly ignored the hollow feeling in her chest and fixed herself a cup of tea, adding a few drops of Dreamless Sleep to the cup.

After finishing the tea, Hermione flopped onto her bed, upsetting Crookshanks' position. He came to curl against her side and she threw an arm over him before falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Hermione scheduled to meet with Pansy for tea Sunday afternoon. She nervously picked through her wardrobe, picking out outfits only to later discard them, and repeating the process. She became so frustrated that she had to take a headache potion, and retreated to her kitchen to have a cup of tea as an excuse to take a break.

"It's not like she's going to all of a sudden be nice to me if I'm wearing a chic outfit," Hermione sighed to herself. "Why am I worrying so much…?"

She went back to her room and picked out the first outfit her hand fell on: the violet blouse she'd worn last Sunday (now wrinkled, but nothing a quick spell wouldn't fix) and a pair of black slacks. "Good enough, right?" Hermione asked Crookshanks weakly, who was watching her from atop her dresser. He turned his head to the side. "Thanks ever so much for your support," Hermione said drily. She glanced back at her chosen outfit, and sighed. "It'll have to do…"

On Sunday, Hermione arrived at Parkinson Estate at promptly five to two. Parkinson Estate was a sprawling mansion made of cream stone, far more elegant and clean looking than the dark fortress Hermione had pictured in her head. She knocked quickly on the door and was immediately greeted by not a House Elf but Pansy herself.

The two women stared at each other for a moment, distrust and dislike clear in each of their eyes, before Hermione decided to take the high road and held out a hand. "Pansy," Hermione greeted stiffly.

"Granger," Pansy returned grudgingly, shaking Hermione's hand shortly before dropping it as though it were covered in armadillo bile.

Hermione gritted her teeth (a terrible habit that her parents would have been horrified to discover) and followed her hostess into the manor. "We'll be having tea in the parlour, if you'll follow me," Pansy's haughty voice echoed against the walls. Hermione wondered if Parkinson Estate was under the same circumstance as Malfoy Manor; empty of all its material wealth with nothing but the skeletal remains of the house left behind.

Pansy led Hermione into a fairly small room decorated in rich, jewel-tone colours. It was more cosy than lavish and Hermione registered faint surprise at the ease she felt upon stepping into the room. Pansy gestured gracefully to a settee and Hermione sat.

"So, Granger, you're here to interview House Elves, is it?" Pansy said without preamble. Her ramrod straight posture and clenched hands showed her unease and Hermione tried not to instantly jump to her own defence.

"Yes, that's right. That is, if you'll allow it," Hermione replied blandly. As much as she disliked Pansy, she didn't want to start a fight, not when she was so close to getting the interviews she needed.

"I suppose I could allow it. Draco seemed rather…_insistent _that I let you come talk to my Elves, though Merlin knows why," Pansy said this last part almost to herself. "What _is_ your relationship with him, anyway?"

Hermione flushed, ready to disavow any suspicions Pansy might have had, but she was interrupted by the arrival of their refreshments. A House Elf, clad in a violet tunic, quietly entered the parlour and served them tea and biscuits. As it turned away to leave the room, Hermione caught a brief glimpse of its face, and her heart stopped.

_What? No, it can't be…!_ "Dobby!" Hermione cried, running after the House Elf into the hallway. The House Elf turned around; it was the spitting image of Dobby. It looked petrified.

"I is not Dobby, miss," it said nervously with its ears flat against its head, spindly fingers twisting in the fabric of its tunic. "I is Ula."

Hermione snapped out of her trance. Now that the Elf had spoken, it was obvious she wasn't Dobby. And now that Hermione looked closer, the Elf was clearly a female, and her eyes weren't the same shade of green as Dobby's, and her nose was a tad too blunt.

Despite herself, Hermione's eyes welled up with tears. She buried her face in her hands and let out a small sob.

"Ula, you are dismissed," a soft voice spoke behind Hermione. The terrified House Elf scampered off with one last glance at the woman crying on the floor.

"I had hoped…she looked so much like him," Hermione moaned softly into her hands, shaking. "I don't know what I was thinking…" Seeing Dobby's supposed-relative brought back horrible memories of the War, of Harry's face when yet another pointless death had been brought about because of him, of Dobby's eyes reflecting light from the stars they could not see…

A hand touched Hermione's shoulder lightly. She flinched, and the hand removed itself. "Come back to the parlour," Pansy said quietly. "You look like you could use a cup of tea."

Hermione stood, shivering with grief, and followed Pansy to the parlour where they'd been previously sitting.

It sometimes happened, this uncontrollable despair. It'd come out of nowhere, slowly building in her throat, until the tears flooded from her eyes and her nose clogged and she could barely breath. Mentally, clinically, Hermione knew this was a symptom of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. But it didn't stop the erratic bouts of misery that overtook her being.

She sat on the plush divan, focusing on the fabric of the furniture. It was a luxurious brocade of purples and burgundies, a swirling pattern that occupied her thoughts until a cup of strong tea was set in front of her by Pansy.

"Drink." It was a command, not a request, and Hermione followed it immediately. The tea soothed her raw throat, and the warmth of it settled into her body.

"Take all the time you need," Pansy said, softer this time. "I…I know it can be hard." This last sentence was said with a slight air of defiance, as though Pansy were ashamed of showing empathy towards Hermione's weakness. Hermione glanced at her hostess, and noted her rigid and recalcitrant posture.

"Thank you," Hermione said after she had sipped a third of the tea. "You've been very hospitable."

"It's only polite," Pansy replied stiffly. She gracefully set her teacup down into its saucer and placed her hands primly on her lap. Hermione nearly laughed; this proper, prim woman was a far cry from the shrill harpy Pansy had been in school.

"You've changed quite a lot," Hermione commented.

Pansy looked affronted. "And you've not changed a whit," Pansy sneered. "Ever the Gryffindor, speaking before you think."

"I didn't mean it as an insult," Hermione shot back, feeling her ire rise.

The two fumed in silence, and Hermione's head began to ache, partly from her crying fit earlier and partly from the woman sitting across from her.

"What made you do it?" Hermione asked suddenly.

"Do what, exactly?" Pansy drawled, looking bored.

"Try to turn Harry in," Hermione replied hotly. "During the Battle at Hogwarts. You tried to turn him in to save your own skin, like a coward—,"

"_I was scared!_" Pansy exclaimed, springing from her seat and looming over Hermione. "I was a child, and I was scared—yes, I was a coward, but no one ever taught me to be brave, like you! I was spoiled, I wasn't forced to grow up as much as you! So of course I did it! What would you have done?" Pansy was breathing hard by the end of her rant, looking on the verge of tears, her smooth veneer vanished.

Hermione was shocked, at a complete loss for words. "I—I'm sorry, I didn't think—," she stuttered, but Pansy sliced the air sharply with her hand, cutting Hermione off.

"Like I said earlier, typical Gryffindor." There was no venom behind her words, only a weariness that almost sounded like disappointment. "And look at all my loyalty to the 'Dark side' did me," Pansy muttered, almost talking to herself. "Both my parents tortured because they tried to cut and run at the end, now they're—," She cut herself off sharply and walked to the long window facing the east lawn.

Hermione timidly left her seat and joined her. "You…if you want, you can talk to me; it was wrong of me to judge earlier. I probably would have done the same thing, had I been in your shoes," Hermione said softly.

Pansy didn't acknowledge that she'd heard Hermione but began to speak mechanically, as though she were reciting from a script. "My parents tried to escape the battle and find me, but they got caught by some other Death Eaters. They tortured them until they went insane, and now they're at Mungo's. In the same ward as Longbottom's parents, no less," Pansy finished with a soft chuckle. "We've become quite chummy, Longbottom and I."

"I'm so sorry," Hermione breathed. To not have parents—no, to have parents, but not have them be cognizant of you or anything around them—it must be torture. Neville had lived with it his whole life, and he had become strong because of it. But Pansy only looked as breakable and delicate as glass; a façade of strength surrounding her but not covering up her fragility.

Pansy turned to her suddenly. "Weren't you here for that nonsense involving House Elves?"

"Er. Yes. I was hoping to interview them to get their testimony for my proposal to end House Elf enslavement," Hermione described quickly.

Pansy looked offended and very nearly as angry as she'd been a few minutes ago. "Enslavement? Are you implying that I condone _slavery_?"

"No!" Hermione burst out. "Enslavement was the wrong word; I just want them to get their rightful dues, like a salary!"

Pansy's face calmed somewhat, and she quirked an eyebrow haughtily in Hermione's direction. "And you think the Elves will _like_ getting paid? It's about on par with getting clothes; they'll loathe it."

"It's not the same," Hermione insisted stubbornly. "The Elves would get a wage but they'd still be in the employ of the family they'd always been serving. And they'd also get a choice on which family they want to serve; they'd be able to leave if they wanted."

Pansy smirked and let out a little laugh, but it didn't seem as bitter. "Ula!" she called out, and a moment later the Elf from before appeared before them. She looked reluctant to spend time in the room with the strange woman from before.

"Yes, Mistress? How can Ula be of service?" Ula squeaked, her eyes flicking nervously to Hermione.

"Ula, please grant Miss Granger an interview. I order you to tell the honest truth." At Ula's terrified face, she added firmly, "There will be absolutely no need for punishment. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Mistress," Ula whispered.

"Well, I'll leave you two to it," Pansy said drily. She left the room without looking back, and Hermione turned her gaze down to the quivering House Elf before her.

"Ula," Hermione said, not missing Ula's flinch at her voice. "Would you like to sit? This may take some time."

"I will do as Miss wishes," Ula said, her voice barely above a whisper. Ula followed her to the settee and hoisted herself up to sit next to Hermione. She refused to make eye contact.

_Argh, this isn't what I wanted at all!_ Hermione's thoughts raged. _She won't even look at me, how am I supposed to know she's telling the truth?_

"So, Ula," Hermione started, keeping her voice as soft and gentle as possible. "How long have you worked for the Parkinson family?"

"Since I is born, Miss," Ula replied miserably. "I serves just as my mum is before me and her mum is before her and her mum before that."

"Right," Hermione scribbled this down on a piece of parchment (she still didn't entirely trust self-writing quills). "And how old are you now?"

"Ula is three and a half, Miss."

Hermione looked up from her parchment, startled. "Three and a half years?"

"Three and a half _decades_, Miss." Ula said with a slight air of obviousness, as though Hermione were stupid to not have known this.

"Oh, I see. Er, and do you enjoy working for the Parkinson family?"

Ula was quiet for a long moment. Hermione could see the inner struggle quite plainly on the Elf's little face. "Ula is…Ula is happy. Ula likes Mistress."

"And would it make you happy to receive payment for the work you do here?"

"P-payment, Miss?" Ula looked terrified. "Not like—_clothes_?"

"No!" Hermione cried. "No, not clothes! Payment in the form of a salary; you'd get a weekly amount of money that you'd be able to spend on things that you want or need."

"Things…that Ula needs?" Ula asked bemusedly. "Things for cooking the meals and keeping Mistress's house tidy?"

"Not exactly," Hermione hedged, trying to think of a way to explain it that would make sense to Ula. "Like…if you enjoy knitting—," Hermione swallowed around the lump in her throat; Dobby had loved to knit. "—if you enjoy knitting, you can buy your own yarn and supplies if you want it. That sort of thing."

Ula's brow furrowed more. "Things Ula wants," she mumbled to herself. She glanced around the room nervously. "Ula…would like that," she confessed in a whisper. Immediately, she clapped her hands over her mouth and turned bright red. "Ula is a bad elf! Elves don't need these things, no, no, they should only be thinking of Mistress, only a bad Elf thinks of herself, oh, Mistress is going to be so cross—,"

"Ula! I demand you stop this nonsense at once!"

Pansy strode across the room and, to Hermione's surprise, knelt next to Ula and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Ula, you are allowed to think of yourself. Those orders are not in place anymore."

Ula's eyes brimmed over with tears. "Ula is terribly sorry, Mistress," she cried.

"There, there," Pansy assured stiffly. Her discomfort was so reminiscent of Hermione's old Head of House, Professor McGonagall, that Hermione snorted out a laugh.

"Did you get enough material, Granger?" Pansy turned hawk like eyes on Hermione and Hermione quailed a bit under the fierce gaze.

"Er, yes, I believe so."

"Good. Ula, you are dismissed." Pansy watched the House Elf as she fled the room, still sniffling. "Ula has always been sensitive. She's not as assertive as her mother. And she unfortunately remembers the tyranny my parents forced upon her and the rest of the Elves."

Hermione desperately wanted to ask just what the tyranny had been, but something in Pansy's face stopped her. _Another time,_ Hermione thought to herself, and straight after felt a jolt of surprise that there would, indeed, be another time to talk to Pansy. Somewhere along the way, Hermione had unconsciously decided to befriend another Slytherin.

"Well, I should be off. You—and Ula—have been a great help to me, so thank you very much for that," Hermione said to Pansy with a smile. The other woman seemed a bit taken aback by Hermione's friendliness but covered it with a slight sneer.

"I didn't do it for you, I did it for Draco," Pansy said coldly.

"Right." Hermione's smile twisted. Before she could stop herself, she blurted out, "Let's get together sometime."

"Excuse me?" Pansy's sneer vanished, replaced with a look of utter shock.

"I think we should start over, so let's get together sometime and do that," Hermione repeated.

"Start…over?"

"Yes," Hermione said patiently. "There's no use in continuing the bad blood between us, and I don't enjoy having enemies. Life is too short."

Pansy didn't seem to be able to find any words, so Hermione stood. "I'll Owl you sometime, alright? No need to get up, I'll show myself out." She strode to the door and as soon as it had closed behind her, let out a hysterical laugh. _What have I gotten myself into?_

In her parlour, Pansy shook her head and allowed herself a rare smile. "Now I know what you meant, Draco. That girl really is something else."

"_Dobby's eyes reflecting light from the stars they could not see…"—this is taken from the last line of DH Chapter 23: "…and his eyes were nothing more than great, glassy orbs sprinkled with light from the stars they could not see.", referring to Dobby's death. That line struck a chord with me and has stayed with me ever since I first read the book, so I wanted a sort of homage to it in this chapter. What do you all think of Pansy's appearance? I've always wanted to expand on her character so she will be showing up in this story more now that she has been "introduced"._


	6. Pitter Patter Goes My Heart

_Sorry this chapter has taken so long—I've been incredibly busy with schoolwork and have just gotten hired at a part-time job, so I have a lot less free time! Hopefully once I get settled I'll be able to update more regularly. The song for this chapter is "Pitter Patter Goes My Heart" by Broken Social Scene._

Hermione burst through the door of her office, grinning so hard her jaw ached. She didn't even register the pain as she very carefully eased her door shut and leaned against it, laughing into her hands.

"It passed," she breathed after her laughing fit. Happy tears filled her eyes and ran down her cheeks. "It passed!"

She'd just gotten back from a brief meeting with Kingsley, who had informed her that the Wizengamot had approved her proposed law for House Elf welfare for a hearing. She had a long way to go, of course, but the first step was always the hardest. Her law would eventually be official, and House Elves all over Wizarding Britain would finally be getting the recognition they deserved.

Hermione all but danced to her desk, scribbling a hasty memo to Harry and Ron telling them the good news. She penned a similar memo to Draco. He'd helped her out, after all, and if she really wanted him for a friend, she'd have to start treating him like one. Hermione sucked thoughtfully on her quill, then decisively started to write a letter, this one to be taken via Owl. After her little outburst at Parkinson Estate, Hermione had felt embarrassed and incredulous that she'd had the nerve to tell Pansy Parkinson that they should start over and be friends. It was a bit like drinking too much and not remembering the events of the night before, not that Hermione had any experience with that sort of thing.

She had analysed her own feelings and calculated them against her actions that past weekend and arrived at the conclusion that she'd done the right thing and she had nothing to worry about. Of course, that didn't stop the odd feeling of unease and paranoia from popping up whenever she thought about it, but it was progress.

Hermione finished her letter to Pansy and sealed it with a daub of wax, then set it aside. It was almost time for her to go home, and for once she didn't have a pile of papers to stay late and work on. Previously that thought would have made Hermione feel anxious, sad even, but now she only felt a sense of relief. She'd be able to catch up on reading that she wanted to do, spend more time with her friends—help Susan plan her wedding!—and generally do the things she never had time for when she was busy working on a project.

Though it would be nice to have free time, Hermione knew it wouldn't last. After a month or so, she'd inevitably go stir crazy and decide to tackle another project. Perhaps next she'd work on the current Werewolf laws.

As Hermione mused, she started to daydream. Therefore, she barely noticed when a purple memo aeroplane flew in and promptly smashed into her forehead.

"Ow!" Hermione clapped a hand to her forehead, feeling a tiny sting where the pointy end of the memo had hit her skin. "Bloody brainless memos…"

She grabbed the purple parchment from where it'd landed on her desk and unfolded it. To her surprise, it wasn't from Harry and Ron like she'd thought it would be. It was from Draco.

_Hermione,_

_Congratulations on your proposal. I was pleased to hear that the Wizengamot did not immediately dismiss it as they would have less than a decade ago. I'm glad I could be of help to you with this._

_Regards,_

_Draco_

A slight feeling of disappointment at the formal tone that Draco had used in the memo settled in the pit of Hermione's stomach. It wasn't like she hadn't expected it to be warm and friendly; Draco wasn't like that in person so why would he be like that in writing? Feeling frustrated with herself, Hermione channelled her feelings into writing a reply to Draco's staid memo.

_Draco,_

_I couldn't have done it without you, so thanks again! What say we go out for dinner to celebrate—just you and me? I'd like to thank you properly. Let me know what night works for you; I'm free pretty much every night this week._

_Hermione_

"There!" Hermione huffed, sending the memo off with an irritated flick of her wand. She glanced at her clock, it was 4:45. Draco would be leaving work in 15 minutes, but the memos were fast—she'd corner him in person if she had to. She anxiously paced her office, straightening her desk, packing and repacking her bag. At exactly 5 o'clock, a purple memo sailed into her room.

"Aha!" Hermione snatched it out of the air. She unfolded it hastily and eagerly read Draco's response:

_Hermione,_

_I am unfortunately very busy with my work as of late, so I am only free this Wednesday. As Wednesday is tomorrow, I apologise for the short notice. If this doesn't work, please notify me of a different date._

_Draco_

"It's like reading a note from a Jane Austen novel," Hermione grumbled.

"What is?"

Hermione gasped and whirled around. Susan was standing in the doorway with an amused expression on her face. Hermione glared.

"You could have _knocked_, you know," Hermione told her.

"Yes, but that would have been too easy," Susan replied teasingly. "What's this about Jane Austen? I could never stand her writing; too archaic."

"Oh, nothing," Hermione said quickly, crumpling the memo into a small ball. She still wasn't exactly sure how to go about telling Susan about her mission to befriend Draco (and now Pansy).

"Hermione, I can tell you're hiding something from me," Susan said, sounding slightly hurt. "I'm not pushing you to tell me, but you know you can, right? We're friends."

Hermione bit her lip. "I want to tell you, Sue," she started. "But I don't think you'll…agree with it."

"Try me," Susan said kindly. "I promise to listen until you're done."

Hermione quickly debated the pros and cons in her head. Susan was a Hufflepuff through and through; she was trustworthy and kind to the core, but she also had serious issues with anything to do with the War and this could severely hurt their friendship. Hermione bit her lip and a few seconds later, sighed and said, "Sit down. This could take some time."

Fifteen minutes later, Hermione was wrapping up her explanation. "And I didn't want to tell you because I know how you feel about them—and you seemed so happy with Padma's proposal that I didn't want to ruin it—will you forgive me?" Hermione gazed at Susan remorsefully, hoping that Susan could channel her inner saint and not be angry with her.

Susan's face was neutral and Hermione could tell she was thinking hard. Susan's face usually looked completely blank while she was concentrating, and her brow furrowed when she was bored, a trait that often got her in trouble at Hogwarts.

"Well, that was certainly a tale. I can see why you didn't want to tell me," Susan remarked lightly. "I forgive you, obviously; it's not that big of a deal. But next time you start taking Slytherins under your wing, you tell me sooner rather than later!"

Hermione sighed, visibly deflating with relief. "Thanks for understanding, Sue." She unclenched her tense fists and realised she'd been clutching Draco's most recent memo the whole time. "What do you make of this, then? I only just got it before you showed up."

Susan skimmed the memo and smirked. "Sneaky bastard, he did that on purpose. He could have memoed you sooner but he obviously wanted to leave work to avoid any more memos from you!"

Hermione frowned. "He's avoiding me," she stated. "From what you know—do you think I'm pushing this friendship on him too much?"

Susan leaned back in her chair. "I don't know much about Malfoy," she said slowly. "But from what you've told me I'd say he's just skittish. He's a Slytherin and they don't trust anyone, so you coming off all friendly probably seems like some ruse to him."

"He should know better, I'm a Gryffindor: we're too obvious to pull anything like that off," Hermione replied grumpily. Susan laughed and stood up, stretching her arms over her head.

"Well, keep fighting the good fight—I'm sure he'll come 'round eventually. I've got to get home to Padma, she's making us shahi paneer for dinner," Susan said happily.

"Sounds divine," Hermione smiled. "Thanks again for listening and not getting cross with me."

"Not at all," Susan replied. ""Will you be heading home? You've no excuse to stay here late; your proposal is finished."

"I'm leaving soon, really. I've just got to stop in Muggle London for a few things."

"Alright then, see you tomorrow!" Susan waved goodbye in the doorway and left.

Hermione sat at her desk, brow furrowed, contemplating the enigma that was Draco Malfoy. After a few minutes, she gathered her things and headed for the atrium.

When she arrived home, it was dark out—she'd had to stop at the supermarket to buy some groceries, and it'd taken forever as usual with the after-work shoppers. She reached for the light switch and nearly screamed as the scene before her was revealed. Hermione whipped out her wand at record speed, taking a battle stance and dropping her groceries before realising how silly she was being.

"_Congratulations!"_

Harry, Ron, Ginny, George, Molly, Arthur, and, to Hermione's surprise, Susan and Padma, were standing in her kitchen surrounding the table. The table was practically sagging under the weight of a veritable feast: Padma's famous shahi paneer, homemade roti, a large salad, and a giant chocolate cake that Hermione guessed had been made by Molly.

Hermione stood in the archway of her kitchen, speechless. "What…?"

"It took a bit of mad planning, but we managed alright, don't you think?" Harry said, grinning.

"We wanted to surprise you—you've worked so hard on this proposal, dear. We all thought you deserved a little celebration," Molly explained.

"I tried to get Malfoy to come but he was being a wanker and said he was busy," Ron said with a good-natured scowl.

"I don't know what to say," Hermione gulped, feeling tears gather in her eyes.

"Oh, darling, don't cry," Molly said, sweeping her into a hug. "We're so very proud of you." Hermione screwed her face up in an effort to keep the tears in.

"This is amazing," she sniffed, wiping messily at her eyes. "How did Susan not manage to let the secret slip?"

Everyone laughed as Susan's face turned bright red. "I'm not _that _bad at keeping secrets!"

"Yes, you are," Padma said to her fiancée with a smirk.

The rest of the night continued merrily, with Hermione feeling extremely loved by her friends and surrogate family. George produced some fabulous Weasley Wizard Wheezes firecrackers, and the nine of them watched them dance about outside overlooking the sea. By the time everyone left, Hermione was happily exhausted and stuffed full of good food. She'd waved off the offers to help clean up and waved her wand lazily at the table, sending her dishes off to the sink and neatly packing up the leftover food.

Something niggled at her mind—Ron's voice—"_I tried to get Malfoy to come…"_, and then a knock at her door interrupted her musings. Hermione crossed to the door without a second thought, assuming the person on the other side was someone from the party. It wasn't.

Draco Malfoy stood in front of her, looking surprisingly healthy with a slight pink tinge to his cheeks—Hermione attributed it to the cold—and very out of place with an almost sheepish expression on his face.

"Hi," Hermione greeted after a moment's hesitation, flabbergasted.

"Hello," Draco replied awkwardly. He looked down at his hands, in which a bouquet of wildflowers was clutched.

Manners kicked in, and Hermione blurted, "Would you like to come in?"

Draco looked very nearly terrified at this prospect, but declined politely. "I've—we've both got work tomorrow, I can't stay," he stuttered. "Weasley invited me, and I couldn't come—I had a previously arranged appointment."

"Ah," Hermione said lamely.

"I only want to stop by to give you these; they're from the forest around the manor," Draco mumbled.

Hermione took the proffered flowers, smiling at their uncultivated beauty—so much more genuine than the magically-enhanced flowers that were sold in Diagon Alley. "Thank you," she said sincerely. "They're lovely."

Draco's cheeks pinked—even more than they already were—and Hermione stifled a smile. No doubt he was embarrassed that they were simple wildflowers, not up to a Malfoy's standards, but little did he know that wildflowers were Hermione's favourite flora.

"Well. Er. I shall take my leave of you, then," Draco said stiffly, reverting to his Austen-esque style of speech.

"Draco," Hermione said suddenly, causing Draco to freeze in the doorway like a startled rabbit. "Let's scratch dinner for this week; I've thought of a better idea. Are you free on Saturday? During the day?"

"I believe I am," Draco said slowly. "What did you have in mind?"

"It's a surprise," Hermione said cheekily. "I'll send you a memo with some details tomorrow."

"Alright," Draco replied apprehensively. "Til tomorrow, then." He walked off into the night and a moment later a crack of Apparition reached her ears.

Hermione closed her door, smiling to herself.

The next day at work, Hermione found time to send Draco a memo between research and other errands she'd put aside for her proposal. She couldn't wait to surprise him on Saturday; it was likely nothing he'd ever experienced.

_Draco—_

_ Meet me in front of the Ministry entrance on Saturday at 11 o'clock. Wear Muggle clothing. _

_See you then,_

_Hermione_

Hermione allowed herself a devilish chuckle before she dove back into research on Werewolf laws. The dusty tomes kept giving her sneezing fits, but she kept on, holding the image of Remus in her mind as a motivator.

The research on Werewolf laws kept Hermione busy and distracted enough that she didn't realise it was Friday until a silvery Great Pyrenees galloped into the room and straight through her desk to sit wagging its tail happily in front of her. Ron's voice expelled from its mouth, the jaws working oddly around the vowels.

"Hermione, where the hell are you? You're half an hour late. You'd better be alright! Send a reply as soon as possible or Harry and I will set a team of Aurors out for you."

The Pyrenees barked once and disappeared in a swirl of smoke. "Oh, piss it," Hermione cursed. She'd gotten so immersed in the tome in which the Werewolf Code of Conduct had originated in 1637 that she had completely forgotten about the Weasley family dinners. She slammed the book shut, waving away a cloud of dust, and whipped her cloak on while striding through her door to leave the Ministry.

She arrived at the Burrow ten minutes later, bursting through the back door. "I'm so sorry! I got caught up at work—,"

"It's quite alright, dear," Molly replied kindly, ushering Hermione out of her cloak and into a seat, serving her a healthy dollop of mash and a pile of herbed roasted vegetables.

"I'm glad we didn't have to send a search party out," Ron said grumpily. "Bloody newbies wouldn't find you for weeks anyway."

"You're too hard on them, Ronald," Hermione sniffed. "It's not as if they spent the majority of their years fighting for their lives like we did."

"Too right," Harry agreed, chuckling. "Lucky them."

"Ah, Hermione, Bill and Fleur are stopping by this Saturday with little Victoire, will you be able to stop by?" Ginny asked her.

"Oh, I'd love to—but I can't, I'm meeting with someone on Saturday," Hermione said disappointedly.

"Ooh, is it a date?" Ginny asked with a look that could only be described as glee on her face.

"Er, not exactly," Hermione replied. "Sorry to disappoint."

"Still not over our ickle Ronniekins, are you Hermione?" That was George looking up at her from the end of the table and waggling his eyebrows.

"Oh, no, I weep every night for him to return to me," Hermione said in a falsetto voice, clutching at her chest.

George snorted into his pumpkin juice. Hermione beamed; it was rare for George to laugh at anyone's jokes—he still made his own on occasion but they were often followed by a bitter laugh rather than an amused one.

The rest of the night passed without any fuss, and Hermione left the Burrow feeling warm and happy, as she usually did. If she didn't have these weekly dinners, she'd be much less happy—she wondered how Draco or Pansy managed. Surely they didn't have the support system she did; Hermione couldn't see any of the other former Slytherins wanting to keep in touch and have weekly get-togethers. She made a mental note to reach out to Pansy in the next few days.

On Saturday morning, Hermione took her time getting ready and making sure she had everything. She'd tied her hair into a plait as it was sure to be a blustery autumn day. She wore a thick sweater hand knit by Molly paired with a knee length skirt, thick tights, and sturdy boots. Not the most fashionable, but it was one of her favourite outfits and it signalled the beginning of autumn, as well as the approach of her birthday. Hermione smiled brightly at her reflection and went to gather the rest of her things.

She was waiting patiently outside of the Ministry entrance when Draco walked up to her, looking awkward with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his trousers. He looked good in Muggle clothes—or at least the outfit he'd chosen. He was wearing dark brown fine wool trousers with a soft looking grey jumper over a crisp white button down. Hermione noticed that, though the outfit looked impeccably put together, all of the clothing looked a tad careworn. She was reminded of how Remus used to dress, though Draco's clothes were much less shabby and unpatched.

"Hello!" Hermione greeted him brightly. She picked up the wicker basket that she'd set on the ground next to her and stepped up to her companion. "Let's get going—it looks like it might rain later," she said, gesturing him to follow her.

"Where are we going?" Draco asked quietly, a hint of curiosity colouring his voice.

"St James's Park," Hermione said. "It's right nearby. We'll be having a picnic lunch."

"A…picnic?" Draco repeated.

"Yes. You know was picnics are; they're not exclusively Muggle," Hermione teased him.

"I know what a picnic is," Draco retorted, a tad defensively. "I just…I've never gone on one like this."

"It'll be fun, you'll see," Hermione said confidently. She led him through Muggle London for about ten minutes until they could see the many trees that were scattered throughout the park.

The park was surprisingly empty; perhaps because of the chilly weather and impending rain. Hermione thanked her luck, and then found a nice spot beneath a willow tree to spread the flannel blanket she'd brought with. Draco surprised her by helping spread out the cloth. Hermione unpacked the lunch and served the both of them, and they began eating in silence, watching the various fauna that roamed the park.

"This is nice. You were right," Draco said, his voice breaking the quiet spell. After a moment, he cleared his throat and said, "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Hermione said a tad questionably.

"I don't have any friends who would do this for me," Draco explained, looking down at the print on the blanket. "Pansy—she'll drag me to go shopping with her in France, or have me over at the Estate, but this is…it's nice," he finished lamely.

"Don't mention it, really. I like spending time with you," Hermione said. She'd meant to be reassuring, but she surprised herself with how genuine the statement was. She'd barely spent any time with him, really, but she did enjoy the times she had. Draco was quiet and introspective, and very intelligent and easy to talk to—different from Harry and Ron, or Ginny and Susan.

Hermione smiled at him and was surprised to see him smile back at her. It was a lovely smile, shy and hesitant, and it suited his face much more than the nasty smirks and glares he'd sported as a child.

The two finished their lunches slowly, talking of work and their common interests. Draco attempted to start a conversation about Quidditch, which Hermione promptly laughed off. "If you really want to talk Quidditch, talk to Ron or Harry—or Ginny. She plays in the professional league for the Harpies, you know."

"Really? What position is she?" Draco asked, a spark of interest lighting in his eyes.

"Chaser, but she plays Seeker as a backup when the main player is hurt."

"That's impressive," Draco commented with surprise.

"Impressive for a woman?" Hermione asked with a raised eyebrow. She'd meant to be teasing him, but Draco replied seriously. "No, gender has nothing to do with talent. It's just that she's so young, no one has played first-string so fast in Quidditch since Gwenog Jones back in 1987…" He trailed off, blushing.

"Let's get going," Hermione said, changing the subject with ease. "It's probably going to rain soon, and we don't want to be caught out in it. Do you have any other plans for the day?"

"None," Draco replied simply. He stood and offered Hermione a hand to stand up so casually that her heart flipped. She took it and stood easily, smiling at him in thanks. They were standing so close that Hermione could see the light blue flecks in his grey eyes, and a small scar on the top of his lip. She blushed and busied herself with the basket, trying to ignore her racing heart.

"Good, then I've got somewhere to show you," Hermione declared.

They set off, walking at an easy pace and talking the whole way. Hermione was elated at the way the day was going; she never thought Draco would open up so quickly. It took nearly twenty minutes to walk to their location, but Hermione was glad for it: she was able to attribute the flush in her face to the wind and not the silly notions running through her mind.

They arrived at their destination: a second-hand book store. "It's my favourite in the city; it's close to work so I come here a lot," Hermione explained. "I know you enjoy reading as much as I do so I thought you'd like it…"

"It's wonderful," Draco said, smiling at her. "Shall we?" He held the door open for her and they went inside. It smelt of musty books and old paper, and Hermione breathed in deep; it was one of her favourite smells in the whole world.

"I've an idea," she said suddenly. She turned to Draco, who had been glancing about the store. "Let's each find a book for the other, one that we think we haven't read before. We'll have…," she glanced down at her watch. "Fifteen minutes to find a book, and then we have to meet at the till."

Draco looked faintly surprised but intrigued. "Sounds like a plan."

"See you in fifteen minutes," Hermione said mischievously.

She darted to the second floor, where she knew the less rare and more recently published books were located. Scanning the titles, she thought on what Draco would like to read. He admittedly liked reading fiction, but enjoyed non-fiction as well. That didn't narrow it down much. Hermione was scanning titles in the fiction section when she came across an old, dog-eared copy of _The Remains of the Day_ by Kazuo Ishiguro. It was a favourite of her mum's and Hermione thought Draco might appreciate the themes in the book. She checked the time, and seeing that she had a minute left, hurried back downstairs to the till.

Draco was standing near the till, looking out the window where it was starting to rain. He was holding a smallish book in his hands, but Hermione couldn't make out the cover art or title. She walked up to him, tapping his elbow surreptitiously. His head whipped around, body going tense, and Hermione was glad she knew to approach him gently—an aftereffect of the War was overreactions to being surprised. She was glad Draco hadn't been at the party on Tuesday night to see her react to being surprised by so many people.

"What did you pick out?" Hermione asked curiously, holding her find behind her back.

"It's a novel by an American Mug—er, author, John Steinbeck. It's called _The Winter of Our Discontent._"

"Oh, I'm familiar with his work, but I've not read that one," Hermione exclaimed.

"I read it right after…after the War, and it really…opened my eyes," Draco said haltingly.

"Oh," Hermione breathed. She was touched that he'd pick out something so personal. She was suddenly glad she'd picked Ishiuguro's novel; it was somewhat of a special novel to her.

"Here, I think you'll really like this book," Hermione said, thrusting the novel at him. "It's one of my, and my mum's, favourites. It's very…poignant."

Draco considered the cover of the novel seriously. "I look forward to reading it," he murmured.

They purchased the books and walked outside, standing under the awning to avoid the cold rain. "Let's find an Apparition point, I think there's one near here," Hermione suggested.

They ran into the rain, finding an appropriate alley to Apparate home in, and Hermione wiped rain from her face as she glanced up at Draco. His pallor seemed to whiten tenfold in the grey lighting, but he looked a fair bit healthier than when she had first seen him at the Burrow. She guessed that was part of Zeb's doing.

"I had a lovely time," Draco addressed her. "Thank you."

"I did, as well," Hermione smiled. "We'll have to do it again soon. Maybe we can do dinner next week soon?"

"I'll see what my schedule is like. Truthfully, I'm free most of the time…" Draco confessed.

"It's alright, so am I," Hermione assured him. "I'll make sure we hermits get together on a regular basis, don't you worry!"

Draco gave her another heart-wrenching, small smile. "See you later," he said, then turned on the spot and was gone.

Hermione sagged against the dirty alley wall, clutching the book to her chest and squeezing her eyes shut. "Oh, Hermione…what have you gotten yourself into now?" At the thought of Draco's small smile, her heart began to beat faster while simultaneously sinking into the bottom of her stomach. This was very, very bad.

She was starting to have feelings for Draco.

_I just realised while looking on a calendar that the night of Hermione's surprise party falls on Tuesday, 11 September 2001—which as everyone probably knows is when the World Trade Centre was attacked in New York City. I'm not including it in the story as it'd be unnecessary and I doubt that Wizards in Britain would really know much about it (Hermione might hear about it, and her parents, etc. but that is not relevant) and they all have their own demons to deal with anyway. Keeping up with the timeline I've created and staying on track is very difficult! In other news, I've just gotten hired at a law firm (part-time as a clerk) so perhaps I'll pick up on some legal lingo that I can incorporate into this story somehow! The two books mentioned in this chapter are not ones I have read, unfortunately, but I feel they suit the characters and both authors are very, very good, so if you've got free time, check them out._


	7. You Know What I Mean

_The song that accompanies this chapter is "You Know What I Mean" by Cults._

Hermione managed to gather her wits about her enough to Apparate back to Land's End. She walked in a daze to her bedroom, stripping off her clothes and getting into her favourite pyjamas—an old knit sweater of her father's and an extremely baggy and long pair of sweatpants that Ron had left behind and she'd claimed as her own. She shuffled into the kitchen and tapped the kettle with her wand. A few seconds later it was whistling shrilly and she poured the scalding water over a bag of peppermint tea. She stared at the whorls of steam rising lazily out of the mug, her mind miles away.

How could she have let her emotions get away from her so easily? She'd only been broken up with Ron for a couple of months—surely she was moving on too quickly? Hermione shook her head and carried her tea to the living room, sinking into the plush sofa and petting a tightly curled Crookshanks.

Hermione pondered her feelings. Obviously she wasn't in love with Draco—that would be ridiculously fast and incredibly insensible, very much not like her. But she could tell that her feelings would grow. She felt the same as she did when she started to realise that she liked Ron as more than just a best mate. It wasn't the way she'd felt with Viktor Krum; that had been more of a crush with a bit of an adrenaline rush from having a famous Quidditch star choose her as the object of his affections when he could have had the pick of so many more good-looking girls.

She didn't have much experience with dating or love, not like Ginny, who had all but dated her way through Hogwarts before she settled with Harry. She'd had crushes on boys in primary school, prior to Hogwarts, but had been rejected by the few she'd mustered up the courage to tell. With her nest of brown curls, protruding front teeth, and superior intellect she hadn't exactly been the sort of girl an eight year old boy liked. Or any boy of any age, for that matter. The only experience she had was with Viktor, which had been rather a surprise, and with Ron, which had sort of been inevitable and expected in the end.

Hermione sipped at her tea. The scent of peppermint cleared her senses and made her foggy head feel a bit less muddled, and she began to analyse her feelings in earnest. Having only dated two men, she clearly didn't have a type. Ron and Viktor were opposites in both appearance and demeanour, and Draco was no more similar to them than they were to each other. She'd always appreciated intelligence. Viktor had been intellectual because of his stellar education, but he hadn't pursued it like she did. Ron was intelligent in his own way—he was amazing at logic and strategy—but he'd always shunned his schoolwork and could never appreciate anything heavier than a Quidditch magazine.

But Draco enjoyed intellectual challenges, just like herself. He enjoyed reading as a hobby and read both fiction and non-fiction, something Hermione also did. He hadn't had trouble in school as most of the subjects came naturally to him, mainly potions and runes. As much of a prat as he'd been as a child, he'd never shunned his schoolwork like Harry or Ron had. She'd also found that Draco had turned into a kind, empathetic individual who could keep up a conversation on a variety of topics. He was also introverted to the point of being shy, something Hermione found extremely endearing. He liked animals, and from what she'd seen, he was kind to those lesser than him. He really was a far cry from who he'd been a few years ago.

On top of that, Draco was flawed. Hermione appreciated this fact more than most might, as she knew she herself was flawed; not just silly things like her round face and less than fit body, but from the things she'd been through during the War. Her spirit was flawed and would never be perfectly pure and innocent and whole again—but so was Draco's. He, more than most, had been through horrors of the War that people from the winning side could never imagine. And despite his trials, he had still lost his family in the end. There was no love lost between Hermione and the elder Malfoys—Lucius had been a cruel, manipulative man, and Narcissa hadn't been much better—but she still felt a twinge of sympathy when she thought of what Draco had lost.

Hermione remembered a conversation she'd had with her mother once, before the return of Voldemort, when they had still been close. She must have been about thirteen, and she'd been going through a classics phase in regards to her reading material. She'd just finished Pride and Prejudice, and was lauding the character of Mr. Darcy to her mother and father at the breakfast table. Her father had laughed and made a teasing remark about how she always cheered for the underdogs, while her mother regarded her with a gentle smile. "Our Hermione is empathetic, darling. That's something you don't see often nowadays. Someone has to take care of those lonely souls." Hermione remembered feeling slightly put out at the statement, but looking back she realised her mother had pegged her in one, long before Hermione knew herself that she would always be drawn to characters like Mr. Darcy, like House Elves and werewolves, like Draco Malfoy.

She sighed heavily and sipped the last of her lukewarm tea. It was barely half past three, but she felt drained enough to want to go to bed, and not have to wake up until Monday morning where the only things she'd have to worry about were werewolf laws. She could go distract herself by visiting the Burrow, but she wasn't exactly up to seeing any people at the moment. On a whim, she decided to clean her house the Muggle way—it would take much longer and she'd be sufficiently distracted until night fell. She stood decisively and rolled up her sleeves, determined to forget all about her silly feelings for a certain blond man.

On Monday morning, Hermione arrived at work earlier than usual. She'd tried to distract herself all weekend, first by cleaning her house, then by cooking some meals that would be easy to reheat upon coming home from work, but there was only so much to clean (her house wasn't that large) and only so much to cook (she could only eat so much before the food started to go bad). She'd read Draco's book, the Steinbeck novel, in record speed, and was starting to read it again at a slower pace to further absorb the plot and characters. She was thoroughly surprised at his choice in prose, but pleased nonetheless that he'd chosen a novel so personal to him to share with her.

No one else was in the office, thankfully, so she slipped into her room and closed the door—a signal that she didn't want to be disturbed should anyone show up looking for her. She all but ran to the large, dusty tomes on werewolf laws and immediately immersed herself in them. She worked straight through lunch, sending Harry and Ron a brief memo to tell them not to worry. As such, Hermione didn't notice that it was much past time for her to leave until Susan knocked on her door at a quarter past six that evening.

"Hermione, really, I know you're keen on saving the downtrodden outcasts of the world, but this is ridiculous," Susan stated as she walked into Hermione's office and took in the disarray of books, scrolls scrawled with notes, and other legal paraphernalia.

Hermione let out a weak laugh and set down her quill. "I suppose I could retire for the night," she said hoarsely. She swayed immediately after standing, dots dancing before her eyes, and promptly fell back into her chair. Susan rushed around the desk, her brow furrowed with concern.

"Hermione! When was the last time you ate?" she cried, conjuring a goblet and filling it with a swift _aguamenti_.

"Er, around eight this morning?" Hermione answered meekly, gulping down the water. The cold liquid filled her stomach and all at once Hermione realised how hungry she was, and how foolish she'd been.

Susan clucked disapprovingly, sounding like a young Molly Weasley, and began to gather Hermione's things. "That's it. You're coming to mine, I'm _making_ you eat until you can't move, and then you're going to tell me what's wrong."

Hermione didn't protest as Susan all but dressed her in her cloak and ushered her out of the room to the lift.

After she'd gobbled up two large bowls of Susan's signature pasta, accompanied by two thick slices of bread slathered with butter, Hermione sighed in sleepy content. She'd needed this; not just the nourishment but the fussing and near-mothering Susan was showering over her. This was not the first time she'd been the recipient of Susan's care, but it was the first time that it was the result of an actual and not a case.

Susan finished setting down two steaming cups of tea in front of them, and sat in her chair. "Now, tell me what's wrong. You've been acting odd all day. And I _know_ it's not from your new case," she added as Hermione opened her mouth to give some weak excuse about getting werewolves equal rights.

"It's nothing you'll like to hear," Hermione confessed. "I don't want to bother you with it…"

"Nonsense," Susan assured her. "It's to do with a man, isn't it?"

Hermione gaped at her friend in surprise. Susan was a lovely woman, but observant she was not. "How could you tell?"

"I've never seen you this way over a case before," Susan told her, smiling. "And you look about the same way I did when I realised I was in love with Padma."

_In love_. The words echoed in Hermione's ears, and she blushed a furious crimson. "I'm not—_in love_ with him," she choked out. "It's far too soon for that."

"So, who is he?" Susan prompted, looking genuinely curious.

"He…" Hermione trailed off. "You're going to think I'm mad." She took a deep breath. "It's Draco Malfoy."

Far from the exaggerated reaction Hermione had expected, Susan smiled enigmatically, and a little sadly, and said, "I thought as much."

Hermione didn't say anything, blinking owlishly at her friend.

"It's quite obvious if you really think about it," Susan explained practically. "You're both smart, you've got a lot of interests in common, and," she paused, "you're both lonely."

"I'm not lonely!" Hermione burst out defensively. She wasn't quite sure what she was feeling defensive over, but Susan's blunt observation caught her by surprise. It was as though she hadn't realised how true the statement was until Susan said it aloud.

"Hermione…" Susan took one of Hermione's hands in her own. "You can be surrounded by friends and family and still feel lonely. Padma and I, we've noticed it. We've been a bit…well, a bit worried. Whenever I see you bury yourself in your work, I know that's part of who you are—workaholic 'til the end—but I think, sometimes, work for you is an escape."

Hermione bit her lip and didn't respond. She knew what Susan was saying was true, and she acknowledged them to herself, but Hermione felt that these traits were some of her greatest weaknesses. Hearing them out loud made her even more aware of her failings.

"You don't need to say anything," Susan said, squeezing her hand gently. "I just wanted to let you know that I—that we, Padma and I—understand and we won't judge you. I may not like Malfoy," Susan's mouth twisted wryly. "But I love you, and you're a smart woman. You know what you're doing."

Hermione's heart contracted painfully, and she gripped Susan's hand, holding back tears. _Merlin, but I've been weepy lately._ A moment of comfortable silence passed, and Hermione sniffed loudly. "Thanks, Susan," she said hoarsely. "You've no idea how much this means to me…"

"Anything for my favourite Gryffindor," Susan said cheekily, bringing the mood back up from its depressive state. The fire flared suddenly, and Padma stepped out a moment later, looking tired as she brushed soot off of her robes.

"Ah, Hermione, hello," Padma greeted warmly. She crossed the room to kiss Susan. "Hello, my love." She brought a small package out of her bag, enlarging it from its shrunken size. "Care to stay for pudding, Hermione? I've brought back tiramisu."

Hermione smiled politely and declined. Tiramisu was a special tradition between the couple and she didn't want to intrude. Besides, she wanted to get home and decompress after the stressful day she'd put herself through. "Thanks for everything, Sue," she said, and waved goodbye to the two women before Flooing home. Susan had raised some valid points, and she had a lot to think about.

A month later, Hermione was dreading the weekly dinner at the Burrow that night. Draco was going to be there, and she wasn't sure she'd be able to hide her feelings now that she'd realised them—and they'd only intensified in the last four weeks, as she and Draco had been spending more and more time together. She was terrified that she'd act like her twelve year-old self had around Lockhart, stammering and blushing and generally quite foolish. Not because of her feelings for Draco, but because she was terrible at lying.

Her fears had been unfounded, however. The night went off without a hitch; Harry was polite (if a bit stiff and aloof towards Draco) and Draco seemed more open than he had at the first dinner. Dinner wound down with him chatting to George about the joke shop, and Hermione was gratified to see that George was being genuine and not mocking the Slytherin.

It grew late, and people began to leave. Hermione lingered over her pudding, hoping to leave at the same time as Draco to catch a moment alone with him. Just as she stood to make her goodbyes, Molly laid a friendly hand on her shoulder. "Hermione, dear, would you stay around for a bit? I've found a book of my great-grandmother's that may help you with the Werewolf cause," Molly requested.

Hermione began to protest, though her interest was piqued. "Oh, Molly, that's wonderful, but—,"

"Nonsense, dear, you _must _stay," Molly interrupted cheerfully, glancing surreptitiously at Draco and then giving Hermione a knowing look.

_Oh, bugger_. Perhaps she hadn't been as stealthy as she thought.

The rest of the guests trickled out, until finally only Hermione and the elder Weasleys were left. Molly cleared her throat loudly and looked at Arthur, who shot up from the chair he'd been sitting in. "Right! I'm off to bed, got an early morning tomorrow," he announced, clearly lying. "Lovely to see you as always, Hermione."

Molly calmly busied herself with preparing cups of tea for herself and Hermione. She sat at the table, serving Hermione the hot beverage and taking a sip for herself. Hermione couldn't stand the silence anymore.

"How could you tell?" she blurted, mortified.

"I suspected something like this might happen, so I was looking for it," Molly replied. "Though I am surprised it happened this fast. Have you two been spending a lot of time together, then?"

"I suppose you could say that," Hermione muttered.

"Well, I for one am glad to see the both of you so happy," Molly said bluntly. "Draco looks so much healthier than he did when we first had him over, and you're positively glowing."

Hermione blushed. "Is it really that obvious?"

"Maybe not to most, but a mother can always tell. And I like to think that by now I can read you as well as my own children."

Hermione sighed into her tea. "I've not been able to tell my mother," she confessed softly. "Before—the War, I'd tell her everything. We were more like friends than a mother and daughter. But now…I can't talk to her at all," Hermione choked out, trying not to cry.

"Oh, darling," Molly sighed. "You know you can come to me with anything at all. I love you just as much as my own brood, and I always try not to judge."

"Thanks, Molly," Hermione said thickly. She conjured a tissue and blew her nose soundly. "Have any advice for me?" She was half joking, but she needed a mother's opinion—and obviously her own mother was out of the question.

"Take it slow," Molly told her. "I know it's hard, but both of you have been through a lot, and rushing into anything right now is probably not the best idea. Follow your heart, of course, but don't follow it blindly. I can see that Draco cares for you; whether or not he's realised it yet is another question. It may take him longer than another person to sort out his feelings."

Hermione nodded. "I thought as much. Draco's…well, he's different," she said wryly.

Molly laughed. "Yes, he is. The two of you are quite similar, though. Both so intelligent. Passionate. Quiet but brilliant."

Hermione blushed at the praise. "How did you come to inviting Draco to the dinners, by the way? I'd always wondered. I mean, I know Arthur works with him…"

"That's part of it," Molly agreed. "One day I came to bring Arthur his lunch—he'd forgotten it at home, silly man—and I got to see Draco proposing ideas to Arthur about how to better interact with Muggles. He was so earnest and genuine about his ideas, and he really seemed interested in the subject. This was before Narcissa died, so he didn't look nearly as sickly as he does now. I'd always been after Arthur to invite him 'round for supper but Draco had always declined—I suppose he was taking care of Narcissa, at the time," Molly mused.

"Oh," Hermione said faintly.

"Yes, that boy has been through quite a lot in his lifetime," Molly clucked, shaking her head sadly. She stood up suddenly. "Ah, the book! I almost forgot." She pointed her want towards the sitting room, wordlessly summoning a small and ancient looking book into her hands. "Here we are. It belonged to my great-grandmother Méabh. She wrote it in it for a little over five decades, and there seems to be quite a lot of pertinent information on Werewolf laws."

"Thank you, Molly," Hermione said seriously, taking the fragile looking book with care. It looked ancient and about to fall apart, though Hermione could feel the faint pulse of magic under her fingertips—the book was well protected. "This is going to be extremely valuable in my case," she informed Molly, brushing her fingertips over the soft leather of the book's cover.

"I'm glad it can be of use," Molly returned warmly. She stood to take their tea cups back to the kitchen manually, and Hermione opened the book to find spidery, cramped handwriting filling the pages. It looked like it would take some time to get through.

A crack echoed through the garden, and a second later Ginny burst through the back door. "Mum, I forgot my—," she broke off mid-sentence when she saw Hermione. "What are you doing here still?" she asked curiously.

"Molly was giving me a book that might be helpful in my case against Werewolf laws," Hermione explained blandly. Ginny's interested instantly deflated—Ginny was a great friend, but interested in litigation she was not.

"Oh, okay. Hey, Malfoy likes Quidditch, yeah?" The question startled Hermione, who managed to stifle her blush before answering.

"Yes, as much as Harry and Ron," Hermione replied. "Why do you ask?"

"Oh, I've got some extra tickets to our game against Falmouth next weekend and I've no idea who to give them to. Malfoy might enjoy seeing me pulverise his favourite team," Ginny smirked.

"You know you can call him Draco now, right?" Hermione said dryly. "We're not at school anymore."

"Habit," Ginny answered absently. "I'll leave the tickets with the box office under your name; if you can't go it's not a big deal. I've got to run though; Harry's waiting…just wanted to get my leftover pudding…we've plans for it tonight," Ginny winked lasciviously.

"Urgh, Ginny," Hermione scrunched her nose. "I don't need to know about…_that_."

"Sorry, sorry," Ginny laughed brightly. "See you!" She darted into the kitchen and left a moment later with a plate full of treacle tart; Hermione didn't think she'd look at the dessert the same again.

"Molly, I'm off," Hermione called. Molly returned from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron.

"Alright, dear. Would you like to take some leftover pudding with you?"

"Er. No, thanks. I'm still full," Hermione lied, biting her lip. She hugged Molly goodbye and Apparated home, thinking of Quidditch.

A week later Hermione was anxiously awaiting Draco's arrival at her house; they were to take a Portkey to Holyhead for the game in about fifteen minutes. A crack echoed outside, and a second later Hermione heard a knock on her door. She glanced at her reflection in the mirror one last time and dashed to the door to greet a flushed looking Draco.

"Hello," she greeted, her heart speeding up at the sight of him. He looked at the peak of health; though he was still thin he looked so much better than he had back in August. The healthy flush of pink on his face only added to his appearance, and Hermione discovered that his nose got pink in the cold, which she found utterly adorable.

"Come in," she gestured, "no sense in waiting out in the cold."

"Wearing the rival team's colour, are we?" Draco said disapprovingly, only half teasing.

"What? Am I really?" Hermione glanced down at her navy blue knit sweater. It was the warmest one she owned, and she'd wanted to be sure she wouldn't get cold during the game—warming spells only did so much.

"Yes, Puddlemere are navy and gold," Draco said with a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Blast," Hermione muttered. "What are the Harpies' colours?"

"You really don't know anything about Quidditch, do you?" Draco asked, a grin now on his face.

"Oh, shut up, we've only got a few minutes before the Portkey leaves," Hermione told him.

"Here," Draco pointed his wand at her sweater, muttering a spell. The colour slowly bled from navy to a dark emerald green. Hermione glanced up at Draco shyly to thank him, and was taken aback by the look on his face. It was an almost hungry expression, and his pupils had dilated. Hermione stared into his eyes, mesmerized, for a long moment.

A loud beeping emanated from a crumpled soda can on the side table in Hermione's entryway, breaking the moment that had passed between them. "The Portkey," she stammered, grabbing her cloak and throwing it on before walking over to the table. Draco followed her slowly, and the two put their fingers on the can before it tugged them to Holyhead.

They arrived well before the game started, with fifteen minutes to spare as they found their seats. Ginny had given them seats in the highest part of the stadium. Though they weren't box seats, as she was still an early member of the team, they were very nice, and Hermione could see the whole of the pitch as she gazed out at the tiny figures flying about.

"So, those tall things out there are called _goal posts_, and that ball is the _Quaffle_, and—,"

Hermione slapped Draco on the arm. "I know what they are, you git," she said exasperatedly, trying to fight the smile that tugged its way onto her face. "I can follow Quidditch just fine, I just don't see what's so great about it."

"You're mad," Draco said airily, his eyes keenly observing the players on both teams. The game began, and after about ten minutes, Hermione's mind soon began to wander.

Now that she was sure he wasn't watching, she scrutinised Draco's face. He wasn't conventionally handsome. His features had a certain symmetry, no doubt from being a Pureblood, but he wasn't anything special. His hair, which badly needed a trim, was a shade too pale and combined with his alabaster skin and light eyes, his overall appearance came off as cold and aloof. His face was pointed, though it had filled out since his earlier years. He wasn't very tall and his wiry body at times made him look wan.

Outside of her objective observations, however, Hermione did find Draco attractive. Personality had always been more important to her than looks, although there were moments that Hermione felt her breath taken away by how attractive Draco was to her. Times like when they had intellectual conversations, when he smiled at her, and now, with his shoulder brushing lightly against hers and sending a tingle of electricity down her arm despite the layers of clothing between them.

She turned away quickly, blushing, and focused on the game. Quidditch had never been something that interested her, but seeing Draco so happy made it worth standing out in the savagely cold wind. And, she had to admit, seeing Ginny play with her all-female teammates was almost like watching some sort of art performance, as though they were a kettle of hawks dancing in the sky.

Ginny's dark green robes whipped around her as she scored another goal, her mane of red hair streaming out behind her as she did a triumphant swoop in the sky. "Ginny is quite good, isn't she?" Hermione said absentmindedly.

"She's amazing," Draco said, sounding surprised. "I don't remember her being this good in school."

"You probably weren't paying attention," Hermione reminded him. "I'm sure you had other things on your mind back then."

Draco was silent for a moment. "Yes, I did," he answered her quietly.

The look on his face made Hermione's heart break, and before she could think herself out of it, she took his cold hand into her own. Draco flinched slightly, but didn't draw away. Hermione's heart was racing, and she began to focus intently on the game. They remained that way for the rest of the game, keeping each other warm as the rest of the world moved around them.

_Argh, sorry this is so late. I've been incredibly busy and on top of that, I've come down with a wretched cold. I expect that my updates are going to remain few and far between, and for that I apologise immensely. I don't intend on abandoning this story at all; it will just be a long time in between chapters. I hope you all continue to read the story nonetheless!_


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